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**■ POEMS 



BY 



CLARA AUGUSTA. 



32 



PHILADELPHIA: J 

J. B. LIPPINCOTT & CO. 
1873- 



*> 



Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1873, by 

J. B. I l PPINCOTT & CO., 
In the Office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington. 



l ippincott's P r b ss, 
Philadbi PR I a. 



CONTENTS. 



PAGE 

Apart 5 

The Asphodel . 6 

Courage 8 

The Pilgrim 9 

A Dead Rose n 

'J he Pines 13 

Lost 14 

'J he Sleigh-Ride 15 

In Spring 16 

The Death-Bed 17 

Faith . . k 19 

A Little History . 20 

Cochecho River 23 

Found Drowned 24 

Growing Old 27 

The Farmer 28 

^ht 30 

In Silence 31 

Work! 32 

My Faith 33 

Beneath the Shadow 35 

At Rest 36 

One Night 37 

The Child's Wishes 38 

Fast and Present 40 

Beneath the Moon 41 

Arnullin's Bride . 43 

(v) 



VI 



CONTENTS. 



PAGE 

The King and I 45 

The Voice 46 

Another World 48 

May AJlonby 49 

Summer is Gone 51 

A Broken Dream 52 

Croftfin Tower 54 

The Son-; of the Factory 57 

My Suitors 60 

Out in the Cold 61 

Trifles 63 

Marion 65 

The Drunkard's Wife 66 

The March of Life '.68 

Summer 69 

The Past 70 

Looking- Beyond 71 

Humility 73 

My Little Lady in Blue 74 

In the Snow 75 

Dead and Alive 77 

Stars of Night 79 

It Cometh 80 

My Love 81 

Brother and Sister 82 

The Old Barn 84 

Early Fancies 85 

False 86 

From Nature unto God 88 

Something Lost 89 

After the Rain 90 

Nearer 92 

Moonrise 93 

In Ruin 94 

A Memory of Winter 95 

Two Seasons of Life 98 

One of Life's Mistakes 100 

Prayer 103 

Awakened 105 



CONTENTS. vii 

PAGE 

A Change of Opinion 106 

Never Again • 108 

The Old Story ■ . .109 

IN TIME OF WAR. 

The Sentinel 113 

Too Old US 

One Away . . . ll 7 

After the Battle "9 

In Time of War 121 

Little Gray Bess 122 

Consecration I2 4 

Undismayed I2 8 

A Soldier Dead 129 

In Mourning 1 3 1 

Dust to Dust i3 2 

Widowed and Childless 134 

Coming Home 136 

Gleams of Peace '" • • I 3 8 

Spring, 1866 ' . • • ." . 140 

At Last J 4i 

POEMS OF THE SEASONS. 

January . . • J 45 

February X A& 

March x 48 

April 149 

May ISO 

June J 52 

July 153 

August 154 

September I 5° 

October I 57 

November x 59 

December • • I ^° 



POEMS. 



APART. 



The homeless wind sweeps up the rack 

• From the waste of turbid sea ; 
I shudder to think that dismal waste 
Lieth 'tween thee and me, 
Lieth 'tween thee and me, 
And the dun earth shrouds thy breast ; 
But I know the verdant grass and flowers 
Are tender of thy rest. 

Heavily down on the eerie wind 

Beats the frozen winter rain, — 
It throbs in the deep, dark forest depths 
Like a human heart in pain, 
Like a human heart in pain, 
As my own throbs on to-night, 
Thinking of thee in the cold and dark, 
And I in the warmth and light. 

Never a message cometh to me ; 
Oh, how cruel it seems ! 

2 (5) 



THE ASPHODEL. 

Never a word from the lost, lost one ! 
Not even in midnight dreams, 
Not even in midnight dreams. 
Oh, could it only be ! 
Send me a token ! waken a thrill 
Of the old-time ecstasy ! 

Vain it is ! wild it is ! I will be still. 

Dead feet never come back ! 
Why should they stray to the world again. 
Out of the heavenly track ? 
Out of the heavenly track? 
Ah, sinks my heart like a stone ! 
Thou art resting in paradise, — 
I am wandering alone ! 



THE ASPHODEL. 

A fairy queen, one radiant night, 

Strayed from her fabled sphere, 
Down through the crimson clouds that filled 

The mellow atmosphere ; 
She saw this earth hung like a lamp 

In the great silent void, 
A miracle of wondrous form, — 

A finger-mark of God. 

She folded up her breezy wings 

To visit this new land, 
And sank upon a sea-weed leaf 

Down on the harbor sand ; 



THE ASPHODEL. 

The moisture chilled her tender limbs, 

She trembled on her bed, 
The hoarse sea-moanings tired her heart. 

And hurt her throbbing head. 

She said, "I'll call my minions down 

To build a palace hall, 
Where I can dwell whene'er I choose 

To make this earth a call." 
She struck her lute, a blade of grass, — 

A hundred fairies came, 
With little wands of yellow light 

And crowns of amber flame. 

Soon as she told her royal wish 

They bowed to the behest, 
And flew away, each with her hand 

Of fealty on her breast. 
A palace rose : its towers were gold, 

Its walls of crimson silk, 
Its windows of the clearest pearl, 

Its floors as white as milk. 

Triumphant went the fairy queen 

Her new-made home to see ; 
A gallant orchestra there was 

To greet her majesty. 
Robins, and bees, and grasshoppers, 

Sang each a rare refrain, — 
And over all the moonlight poured 

Its glittering silver rain. 



COURAGE. 

A miracle of art and taste 

The fairy palace stood ; 
The royal perfume of its sweets 

Floating for many a rood. 
And to this day maids love the flower 

Where the queen came to dwell, 
And bind within their wealth of curls 

The peerless Asphodel. 



COURAGE. 



Keep up your courage, friend, 

Nor falter on the track ; 
Look up, toil bravely on, 

And scorn to languish back. 
A true heart rarely fails to win, — 

A will can make a way; 
The darkest night will yield at last 

Unto the perfect day. 

See yonder little flower 

You've crushed beneath your tread, 
The sunshine and the shower 

Beat on its bended head ; 
Though bowed it is not broke : 

It rises up again, 
And sheds a sweet perfume across 

The arid desert plain. 



THE PILGRIM. 

Then like the tender flower 

Be ye, oh, weary man ! 
In countless ways God blesseth you, — 

Deny it if you can. 
You've love to cheer your heart, 

You've strength, and gracious health ; 
For these full many a lordly peer 

Would gladly yield his wealth. 

Never despair ! it kills the life, 

And digs an early grave ; 
The man who rails so much at Fate 

But makes himself her slave. 
Up ! rouse ye to the work ! 

Resolve to victory gain ; 
And hopes shall rise, and bear rich fruit, 

Which long in dust have lain. 



THE PILGRIM. 

Jerusalem ! ah, can it be 

Mine eyes behold thy towers? 
The slanting sunlight pours on thee 

Its floods of crimson flowers ; 
Thy heights rise up, dim, weird, and grim. 

Against the blood-red sky: 
Jerusalem ! Jerusalem ! 

In holy awe I cry. 

2* 



IO THE PILGRIM. 

But where, oh where, the pride and pomp 

Swayed once within thy walls ? 
Oh, where the gorgeous panoply 

Of Herod's palace halls ? 
Oh, where the shrine, and sacred cups, 

The temple, font, and throne, 
Ere Saracen and ruthless Turk 

Profaned the altar-stone? 

The sword, the devastating sword, 

Has made thee desolate ; 
And never more, oh, Palestine ! 

Shalt thou be called the great. 
The Cross and Crescent o'er thy hills 

Have held alternate sway; 
And Israel's persecuted tribes 

Have vainly looked for day. 

And where the date, and feathery palm, 

And ancient cedars grew, 
The Gentile plows have torn the soil, 

Disturbed the hallowed dew ; 
And feet unsanctified have pressed 

The turf of Zion's hill ; 
And foreign hordes laved in the flood 

Of Cedron's holy rill. 

The Mount of Olives ! awful gloom 

Hovers abroad o'er thee ! 
He wept and prayed upon thy brow 

In deepest agony ! 



A DEAD ROSE. 

And from thy summit, pure and wise 
His words like balm distilled ; 

And Jew, and scribe, and Pharisee 
With awe of Him were filled. 

Jerusalem ! Jerusalem ! 

I've wandered o'er the sea, 
And passed by many a classic shrine, 

Dreaming the while of thee. 
And resting 'neath this fig-tree's shade, 

I gaze on all thy dearth ; 
But still, Jerusalem, thou art 

The holiest spot on earth ! 



A DEAD ROSE. 

Three years ago to-night, — a summer night, 
With lines of purple in the western sky, 

The sea-waves rolling up the beach foam white, 
And in the distance a ship sailing by, 

A crescent moon pallid behind gray clouds, — 

Oh, why do young moons pale and sunsets die? — 

We drifted on beyond the rocky isles 

That guard the broadening outlet of the bay, 

And watched the billows, mighty piles on piles, 

As, bounding in, they drenched us with their spray ; 

And all the land, and all the starry sky, 
In perfect peace and silence tranced lay. 



2 .1 DEAD A' OS/-:. 

We anchored just below the reach of sand 
That glittered golden in the misty light ; 

And up the rocks we clambered hand in hand, 
Forgetting that around us crept the night; 

There is no night for those who live and love : 
All time is merged in one intense delight. 

How near it seems to me ! — that dreamy hush 
Of silent sky, and subtle, sensuous air; 

How 'neath his eyes my face burned with a flush 
No other glance can ever summon there ! 

His head bent down ; I felt his gentle hand 
Cover my fingers, and his breath my hair. 

He gathered from a bush, heavy with dew, 
A single rose, and touched it with his lips ; 

And henceforth roses, to myfincv, grew 
Sweet as the nectar that the brown bee sips. 

He laid it on my cheek and, smiling, said, 
'The roses there put his rose in eclipse. 

Ah, well ! 'tis over. Two long years ago 
1 hid this rose with my most sacred things; 

Its grace ami glory gone, its light and glow, 
All — save the perfume that around it clings. 

I lay it by, — the faint, sweet summer smell 
A sense of loss forever to me brings. 



THE PINES. 



13 



THE PINES. 

Above the highland ridge they lift 

Their belt of sombre green \ 
The meadows and the silvery stream 

In silence lie between. 
The pale-leaved beeches and the elms 

Wave in the lightest breeze; 
But it would need a rude, fierce blast 

To sway these old pine-trees. 

Stern sentinels for many a year* 

What changes have o'erswept 
The land they look on, since their watch 

In solemn state they've kept ! 
They've heard the songs of other days 

From other lips than ours, — 
A hundred Junes have smiled on them, 

Spicy and sweet with flowers. 

They've seen the smoke of many a cot 

Rise bluely on the air, 
From happy hearths that now are cold, 

And desolate, and bare. 
Beneath their shadow lie the graves 

Of those who, long ago, 
Like us, looked up to see the light 

Of sunset fade and glow. 



I I 



/ OST. 

The 11 i : ; 1 1 1 descends, the red flush Hides, 
The pines arc black with gloom, — 

I shut the window, and give thought 

And olden memories room ; 
And, Like a breath o\ rare perfume, 

Stealing through sweet lush vines. 
Come thoughts of days, bright summer days, 

Amid the dark old pines. 



LOST 



THE drifting rain came o'er the western hills, 
The air was Mind with spray ; 

To thund'ring rivers swelled the simple rills, 
The roaring torrents drowned the grinding mills, 

The mists obscured the day. 
She trod with nimble feel the beaten track, 

Up, up the mountain's steep. 
Along the dingle deep, nor looked she back. 

Though in her train the frozen rain 
Leaped in a cataract. 

The sheep were on the heights, -her lamb, her pet 
She called his gentle name ; 

And, through the flying drifts of cold ami wet. 

The heaving mists around her like a net, 

She vanished like a ilame. 



THE SLEIGH-RIDE. 

The avalanche burst from the mountain's side 

And crushed the mighty trei s, 
Ran down the crags in seas, a deathly tide; 

And nun grew pale, and on the gale 
Rang curse and prayer allied. 

From night the morning came. The red sun (lush 

Lay on the highlands bleak ; 
And in the dreamy air there was a hush, 
And on the dismal scene there was a blush 

Like shame on anger's cheek ; 
But never home came lamb Or maiden more, 

I town, down the mountain's sleep. 
But, fright'ning the old wives, when tempests roar, 

I lei voice calls clear On night's dead ear 
The lamb's name as before. 



tii E sllic; H-R] DE. 
Bright gleam the golden stars spangling the blue. 

Round the white moon lifts her splendor to view, 

Low in the west the faint light of day 

Dies in its red Hush softly away; 

I'eui ( lear the snow robe spread o'er the land, 

While with the frost flowers all the trees stand. 

Bring Up the courser ! hang on the hells ! 
Hurrah for a. sleigh ride o'er hills and o'er dells ! 

In 'mid the \\\\ robes 1 slacken the rein, 

Away like the wind o'er the hard beaten plain ! 



'5 



X 6 /at spring. 

Oh, Fate, grant us wings ! we are panting for flight 
Through the sharp biting cold of this bright winter 
night ! 



Steed, jingle the bells ! toss your rich flowing mane ! 
And lift your proud head in your haughty disdain ! 
On over the piled drifts like lightning-winged light, — 
Up, up the steep hills like deer in a fright, — 
Right merrily onward and onward we go ! 
Ye gods ! there is naught will compare with the snow ! 



IN SPRING. 

The skies are blue as English violets, 

The breeze suggests rare tropic airs of balm ; 

The sun in purple splendor nightly sets, 
And evening closes with a saintly calm. 

The mornings are ablaze with red and gold ; 

The sunlight takes a warmer, richer hue ; 
Rare possibilities the white clouds hold, 

Of grateful shadow, and of cooling dew. 

The brooks, let loose, bound down the rocky heights ; 

No more the Frost King binds to sleep and dreams, 
No more the cold gems with pale chrysolites 

The shrubs that droop above the ice-locked streams. 



THE DEATH-BED. 17 

The buds swell into greenest wealth of leaves 
Upon the great elm just without the door ; 

The robin chirps within the forest-trees, 

The blue-bird whistles from the barren moor. 

The frog pipes shrilly in the lonesome swamp, 
The sweet notes of the thrush break softly in ; 

And, like the blood-red banners of a camp, 
The scarlet maples show their blossoming. 

The wild arbutus blushes in the dell, — 

The damp, cool dell, beneath the old pine-trees, — 
A breath of subtlest fragrance in each cell, 

Of summer's sweetness uttering prophecies. 

The day declines, dissolves into the night, 

All lush and moist with smell of growing leaves, 

And over all the young moon sheds its light 
Before it sinks behind the western trees. ■ 



THE DEATH- BED. 

Faintly came her breathing 

From her troubled breast ; 
Feebly on the pillows 

Sank her head to rest. 
Calmly closed her eyelids, 

Passed her smile away, 
As the morning vapors 

Flee the light of day. 
3 



!S THE DEATH-BED, 

Paler grow her forehead 

With each panting breath, 
Ghastly o'er her features 

Lay the seal of death. 
Clasped her slender fingers 

On her bosom meek ; 
Fell the golden tresses 

O'er her pallid check. 

Passed her breath so calmly 

That we never knew 
When she walked in shadow 

Death's dark valley through ; 
Never knew the moment 

When she paused to rest, 
At the gate which foldeth 

Ever in the Blest. 

Passed she like the fragrance 

Of some fading flower, 
Or like summer sunbeams 

When the tempests lower ; 
Left us but her memory, 

Sweet for evermore, — 
Earth has lost her for us, 

Heaven will restore. 



FAITH. 



'9 



FAITH. 

When threatening clouds of gloom and darkness rise, 

And shut me out from all the cheering light 
That hope and love shed on my life's fair skies, 

And joy's glad day gives place to sorrow's night, — 
When buds of promise fade before they bloom, 

And crystal cups break at the fountain's brink, 
Or spill their sweetest nectar to make room 

For bitter draughts He giveth me to drink, — 
Shall I complain, and let my heart despair, 

And from Faith's golden chain remove a link? 

If thorns do pierce me unto bitterest pain, 

They pierced the One who suffered for my sin ; 
If burdens press me sorely when I fain 

Would rest, shall dark doubt enter in 
To clog my soul and bind it unto dust ? 

To turn my poor eyes earthward evermore? 
To dim the sweet perfection of my trust, — 

To cloud in maze of fear th' eternal shore ? 
To make my feet slip from the narrow way 

That ends at last before the opening Door? 

From the fierce warfare of the elements, 

From thunder, lightning, hail, and driving rain, 

From wild tornadoes, when tried Nature vents 
In shuddering throes her agony of pain, — 



20 / / //"/'//•' HISTORY. 

Come forth those days when all the atmosphere 
Is redolent and ripe with tender glow, — 

Those perfect days when heaven stoops down so near 
The angels fan us with their wings of snow ; 

So cometh perfect peace and faith in God 

To human hearts when wrung with bitterest woe. 

All trials that befall are for our good ; 

We would not lose a single chastening touch 
If thoroughly God's plan we understood, 

And knew affliction profiteth so much ! 
Oh, let me wear my Faith, an amulet, 

That shall ward off all doubt ! Make me thine own ; 
And early though my sun of life shall set, 

Give me the grace to say, — " Thy will be done !" 
And, holding not the things of earth too close, 

Turn unto God, and cling to Him alone. 



A LITTLE HISTORY. 

December's gloom is over earth, 
The dead leaves moan and sigh, 

And stark beneath a clouded moon 
The frozen streamlets lie. 

1 linger where the black-leaved pines 
Chant weird psalms faint and low, 

And, like a breath of sweet perfume, 
Come dreams of long ago. 



A LITTLE HISTORY. 

She left us when the autumn woods 

Were gilt with tawny gold, 
And frost-flowers white as Eastern pearls 

Starred heath, and moor, and wold. 

The maples broke their blood-red hearts 

Upon their native hills; 
And amber sunshine, soft and calm, 

Fell through the mellow stills. 

But when she went the sunshine paled, — 

She took the light away ; 
The blue sky lost its tender blue, 

The day was not the day. 

The moonshine, falling down the void 

In silent silver rain, 
Filled all my heart with vague unrest 

And thrills offender pain. 

She came back in the early spring, 

When earth was all aglow, 
And from the blooming orchard-trees 

Drifted the fragrant snow; 

Came back in jewels and in silks, 
And velvets rich and rare, — 

With laces worth their weight in gold 
Looped in her shining hair. 

She touched my fingers when we met ; 

I was a bashful clown, 
Who tilled her father's wide-spread lands 

With sinewy hands and brown. 

3* 



A LITTl E HISTORY. 

There was a bridal brave and gay, 

Wine, music of guitars, 
Laughter, and dancing on the turf 

Beneath the midnight stars. 

She gave her dainty hand away ; 

And he was grave and tall, 
White-haired, — a proud aristocrat, — 

A Croesus, — that was all. 

That night we met beside the spring 

Where oft we'd played of old; 
The young moon gemmed her brow with pearl. 

And kissed her hair's dun gold. 

My eyes spoke to her ! all my life 

Of stem despair, and pain. 
Rushed up to clamor at my lips, — 

I crushed it back again. 

But for one moment heart road heart ! 

Her cheeks' glow waned and lied ; 
She stood before me cold and white 

As marble o'er the dead. 

Oli, God ! 'twere sin to kiss her mouth, 

Or touch with mine her hand ! 
I was a low-born farmer boy, — 

She lady of the land ! 

Now, what to me are trees and (lowers. 

And songs of summer birds? 
What music comes to me in winds. 

Or low of distant herds? 



COCHECHO RIVER. 23 

I only wonder if she thinks, 

In her manorial halls, 
Of seasons when the grapes are red 

Above Cochecho Falls. 

I wonder if she'd like to smell 

Once more the mint and balm ; 
Or if she'd care to hear again 

The pine woods chant their psalm. 

I wonder if her jeweled breast 

Is stirred by one chance thought 
Of what life might have been to her, — 

Of what love might have brought. 



COCHECHO RIVER. 

A silver ribbon winding calm and slow 

Across the meadows where the daisies grow, 

'Tween steep high banks fringed with the feath'ry 

sedge, 
Where elms and birches sweep the water's edge, 
And the red sunbeams with a golden glint 
Paint the faint ripples round the peppermint. 

In the mild twilights of the summer days, 
When hill and highland hide in purple haze, 
A breath of music steals up feint and low, — 
The gliding of the river, calm and slow, 
O'er glittering pebbles just beyond the bridge, 
Where the great eddy sweeps (lie Chestnut Ridge. 



24 FOUND DROWNED. 

Down in the gorge below the rugged hill, 
Half hid in shadow stands the brown old mill, 
And just above the willows bend so low, 
Beneath the wild clematis' blooms of snow, — 
So very low they dip within the tide, 
And with perpetual dew are glorified. 

In autumn-time the loaded grapevine's scent 
With thyme, and mint, and sedge is sweetly blent ; 
And where the forest stretches cool and green, 
With belts of sunshine and of shade between, 
The heavy air is full of smells of pine 
Blending a subtle fragrance with the vine. 

Oh, fair Cochecho ! sweeping on thy way, 
Past old farm-houses, mossy eaved and gray, 
Make music for the factory's patient slave, 
Flash hope and beauty from thy sparkling wave ; 
Gladden the lowlands, — linger 'mid the flowers, — 
And mind me sometimes of lost summer hours. 



FOUND DROWNED. 

Down past the rushes so dense and dank. 
Over the snow-white sands, — 
The treacherous, gleaming sands, - 

And down the face of the slippery bank 
Where the old gray poplar stands, 



FOUND DROWNED. 2 5 

We hurried with faces pale and set. 
Oh, the steel-blue sky ! oh, the cold and wet ! 
The moon was hidden, the grass was damp 
With ghostly fogs, and the wild, fierce tramp 
Of the wind swept through the shuddering trees. 
Oh, dreary forest ! oh, cold, bleak seas ! 



The waters gurgled ; the tide rushed in, — 

In o'er the moaning bar, 

The fatal harbor bar, — 
And we heard the thunderous roar and din 

Of the ocean depths afar. 
The gloom grew denser, the night fell down 
Over the sea, the harbor, the town ; 
The wild gull screamed from the craggy rocks, 
The fishing-schooners creaked in the docks ; 
And through the masts of the wreck on the lee 
The mad winds shrieked in their fiendish glee. 



Oh, I remember it all so well ! 
It is graven on stone, 
My heart's cold marble stone, — 

So cold it is I shrink to look 
Into its chambers lone. 

All feeling I had was killed so dead, 

I never writhed when the spirit fled. 

Oh, the world is a desert ! and life is bleak ! 

If the soul be willing the flesh is weak ! 

But I'm looking vaguely, sometime, for light, — 

In the Hereafter will all be right ? 



26 FOUND DROWNED. 

Oh, they lifted him tenderly up 

From the river's cold bed, — 

The cruel, merciless bed ! — 

And a ray of moonlight pierced the clouds 

And touched his drowned head. 
They lifted him up with the glittering gold 
Of his soft hair dripping with wet and cold, — 
And his blue eyes open, and fixed, and wide, 
And his cheek dead white in the chill salt tide ; 
And the sweet mouth pale as a thread of mist, — 
Oh, God ! the mouth I so oft had kissed ! 

Drowned ! they said ; and they tended me 
Like as they would a child, — 
A pitiful little child. 

They smoothed my hair, and spoke kind words, 
And I looked up and smiled : 

Smiled, because my heart was broke, — 

Smiled, in thinking no other stroke 

Could ever cause me a single pain ; 

But life is weary, and death is gain. 

Under the poplar gray, by the sea, 

They buried him — they will bury me. 

Ah, it is gloomy, sometimes, and sad, 

Tiresome for me to wait, — 

In the darkness here to wait, 
Before I shall enter in at the courts 

That are shut by a golden gate. 
I shall see the glory glow of his hair, — 
I shall hear his tender voice on the air; 



CROWING OLD. 27 

And through the flush of the purple even, 

I shall look in the eyes that have looked on heaven ! 

Patience a little ! from over the sea, 

Darling, darling, I'm coming to thee ! 



GROWING OLD. 

They sit together at the door 

Through which, long years ago, 
They passed, a newly-wedded pair, 

In youth's first rosy glow. 
Then her round cheek was red and warm, 

Her hair was rippling gold ; 
His form was stately as the oak : 

But now they both are old. 

Her blooming cheek is wrinkled now, 

The sweet blue eyes are dim ; 
But full of love and holy trust 

They ever turn to him, 
With the calm faith and hope she felt 

Upon her bridal day, 
When the long future, flower-clad, 

Stretched out before her lay. 

Now, in the eventide of life, 

They watch the twilight haze 
Grow on the hills and hang above 

The chain of land-locked bays, — 



28 THE FARMER. 

They sec the sun sink slowly down 
To gladden other lands, — 

They feel night coming, and they sit 
Serene, with close-clasped hands. 



THE FARMER. 

(ion's blessing rest upon the man 

Who tills the bounteous land. 
And strews the yellow grain broadcast 

With free, ungrudging hand ; 
Who makes the barren moorland smile 

With wheat and golden corn, 
The verdant grass to spring, at will, 

Where lurked the worthless thorn. 

Oh, bless his toil with full success ! 

Let soft and gentle rains 
Revive his thirsty pasture hills 

And fertilize his plains ! 
And send the sunshine down to warm 

The frosty breast of earth, 
That crimson wealth of clover blooms 

May spring to odorous birth ! 

An independent life is his, 

Fraught but with honest gains, — 

Wrung not from pale-faced, widowed ones 
Or orphans' hunger pains. 



777E PARMER. 

Honest and fearless, free and glad, 

A very prince is he ! 
At peace with God, in love with truth, 

With man in harmony. 

His lot is cast in nature's fanes, 

Beneath a lucky star, — 
What is't to him that railroad stocks 

Are quoted under par? 
The banks may break, canals burst up, 

And mining sections fail ; 
He's left to him his wide-spread fields, 

His threshing-floors, and flail. 

His children throng about his knee 

When gloaming-time creeps on, 
And hang around his sturdy neck, 

To kiss him one by one. 
The ruddiest cheeks and sweetest lips, 

The brightest eyes, are theirs, — 
The rarest smile in all the town 

The farmer's daughter wears. 

God bless the farmer ! bless him well ! 

A royal life he owns ! 
He reads his lore from mountain heights, 

His sermons from the stones ; 
His college halls are nature's wilds, 

And gorgeous summer sky, — 
The vast cathedral where he prays 

Is heaven's arched canopy. 
4 



29 



3° 



UNSOUGHT. 

Let the rich scorn his sunburnt hands, 

And cheek so rough and brown ; 
But when the proud man at his feast 

In courtly glee sits down, 
The luscious grape, the downy peach, 

The wine in silver can, 
The snowy bread — he owes them all 

Unto the husbandman. 



UNSOUGHT. 

I give thee all I have to give 

From out my soul's unsounded deep ; 

I could not give thee more and live, 
My life is all I keep. 

No hopes, no doubts, no fears abide, 

To warm or chill my young life's blood, — 

The golden gates I throw them wide 
And lavish forth the flood. 

My nightly prayers are all for thee ; 

My thoughts and longings all are thine ; 
The blessings that were meant for me, 

Lord, make them thine, not mine. 

Flowers yield their fragrance, wood-birds sing, 
Streams feed the hungry, grasping sea, 

Day and the sun their pure light bring ; 
So bring I love to thee. 



IN SI IE NCR. 

The summer rain falls down to bless 
The thirsty world it murmurs o'er; 

And so in wordless happiness 
I give, and ask no more. 

I note full well thy heedless air, 
From thy cold eyes I turn away ; 

I know I have no portion there ; 
But I can wait, and pray. 

Perhaps, — I make no idling sure,— 
Perhaps in years long hence, 

That other world, so bright and pure, 
May make me recompense. 



3i 



IN SILENCE. 

A long low line of blue hills toward the west, 
Above them lingering still a crimson stain, — 

A purple shade of azure in the east, 

And lying under it a grass-grown plain. 

A river broad and deep, with wooded shores, 
Bearing upon its breast a boat snow-white, — 

An idle rower leaning on the oars, 

And drifting with the silence and the night. 

The birds, so wearied with the day's sweet songs, 
Have sought their eyries in the forest-trees ; 

Not even a lonesome nightingale prolongs 
The wild wood concert with her melodies. 



32 WORK. 

The moon, so calm in holy quietude, 

Sails in the pathless ocean of the blue; 
As if to cheer her queenly solitude, 

A single star from the pale gloom peeps through. 

The shadows thicken. On the southern ridge 
The weird pine forest rises grim and black, — 

The white road leading to the alder bridge 

Gleams through the maples like a ghostly track. 

The lush green meadows send up clouds of mist, 
White as the snow that falls from wintry skies ; 

Day's forehead pales where Night has stooped and 
kissed 
To gloom and silence all her brilliant dyes. 



WORK! 



Laggard ! thou'rt sitting idly, 

With useless folded hands, — 
Unmindful of the desert spots 

And wastes of barren lands. 
Up ! rouse from this dead stupor, 

And gird thine armor on ! 
When once a firm resolve is made, 

Full half the battle's won ! 

What right hast thou to squander 
The talents God has sent ? 

What right in rust to bury 
The powers He has lent ? 



MY FAITH. 

Do battle bravely, ever, 

In stern defense of right, 
And carve in faith a shining way 

Up to the hills of light. 

The whole world calls for labor ! 

There is a thirsty dearth 
Of earnest, working Christian souls, 

Throughout this wide-spread earth ; 
A lack of strong-armed pioneers 

To break the ranks of sin, 
And woo to Virtue's safe retreat 

The footsore wanderer in. 

Up from this dull supineness ! 

Up with a righteous trust ! 
Why in this aimless, idle life 

Let noble talents rust ? 
Work while the day endureth, 

Work ere the night shall come ; 
At evening, when the shadows fall, 

God calls his servants home. 



33 



MY FAITH 



When quiet reigns upon the earth, 

And placid is the sky, 
With not an angry cloud to dim 

The crystal vault on high ; 
When gentle happiness is mine, 

And care has fled my breast, 



34 



FA l 111. 

When not a stormy trouble tears 

'The calm sea oi my rest, 

God, I tear that I ignore 
Thy goodness and thy grace, 

And turn to other shrines, awaj 
From thy resplendent face! 

When all around me is serene. 

No threatening peril nigh, 
And loving ones are by my side 

To bid all trials fly, 

1 greatly tear me that I put 

Aside my sacred trust, 
And place my faith in other gods 

Formed out ot" clay and dust ; 
Though well I know all power but thine 

Is impotent to save. 
And that thy love, and thine alone, 

Can find me in the grave. 

But when grim danger glowers at me. 

And chills my blood to stone ; 
When fickle friends flee from my side 

And leave me all alone ; 
When heart and spirit faint and fail. 

And flesh grows sorely weak : — 
What can 1 do but come to Thee, 

All broken, contrite, meek? 
For when the storms arise, and beat 

My lite-bark out to sea. 
Whom have I, Lord, on earth beside, 

And whom in heaven, but Thee? 



BENEATH THE SHADOW. 35 



BENEATH THE SHADOW. 

I walk on the hill-tops, I smell the wild roses, — 

Sweet roses that clamber and blossom at will, — 
I gather whole handfuls, and wonder what sweetness 

They lack, — and my heart lieth still 
And dumb in the Present. With thoughts of the 
Future? 

Ah, no ! — with a longing for blessedness fled. 
Oh, Life so relentless ! oh, Time ! stop a moment, 

And let me uncover the face of my dead. 

The Past ! Let me look at it only a moment : 

An eternity boundless, exquisite in pain ; 
Oh, could I roll back the wheels of Time's chariot, 

And live, — just live over that heaven again ! 
Rare heaven of sweetness ! oh, heart mute with anguish, 

Is there any bitterness like unto this, 
In days that are barren and bleak as the desert, 

The remembering of hours that were golden with 
bliss? 

One voice was the music to me of all Eden, 

One smile was the heaven wherein I took rest. 
Did I care if the world went on, or stood stagnant, 

When his arms were around me, my head on his 
breast ? 
Oh, silence was eloquent ! sacredest stillness 

Was sweeter than harp-notes or music of spheres ; 
1 swam in a joy so profound, so exquisite, 

It found no expression save only in tears. 



.<, AT REST, 

Ah, well ! ii is over. The fair skies are Leaden, 

The sofl summer breezes are chill as tin- tomb ; 
i shiver with dread as they sweep through the tree-tops, 

They strike to my heart like the voices of doom. 
Oh, is there no balsam, no healing in Gilead? 

No help for the anguish, no cure for the pain? 
Can 1 never escape from the weight of this burden? 

shall 1 never come forth from the shadow again? 



AT REST. 



in MEMORY OF tGNES, &GED rWENTY-TWO. 

Gather white lilies, emblems of her life, 

Spotless and pure, and lay them o\\ her brow ; 

sin- h.is passed upward from this restless strife, 
Ami with the angels lifts her rare voice now! 

Before her semblance left in mortal clay, 
Oh, solemn gazer I in mute reverence how. 

Silent and p. ile she lies, with folded hands ; 

Touched is her forehead with celestial calm ; 

Smiling her lips, as it" the heavenly lands 

Burst on her vision with their airs oi balm, — 

Or as she heard, through boundless arehes, swell. 

The diapason of some grand sweet psalm. 

Utter no vain repinings o'er her claj . 
Pi op on her face no useless meed of tears ; 



oA'/'i NIGHT. 



37 



Lay her within the conquered grave away, 

And cast out all your troubles, doubts, and fears. 

Why weep for one who, in the courts of heaven, 
Shall dwell through all eternity's bright years? 

Call her not dead, but say an angel's kiss 

Has pressed her lips with tenderness and love, — 

Won her pure spirit to the home of bliss, 

Where with the saved her happy feet shall rove ! 

What better fate than to be with her God, 
And with his angels in the realms above? 

Ay, turn away ! She is no more of earth ; 

But her example, deathless as the stars, 
Has fallen on you at her glad new birth, 

Fallen adown through the sky's purple bars. 
Accept the trust, and be not sad for her 

Whose palm-crowned forehead not a shadow mars. 



ONE NIGH T. 

I wandered down the moonlit woods 
One calm October night, — 

The very poplar-leaves hung still, 
The zephyrs were so light. 

The pink-tinged radiance of the sky, 
Love-flushed the blazing stars, 

Until my soul leaped up to break 
These mortal prison bars. 



38 



THE CHILD'S WISHES. 

The brook ran softly o'er the grass, 

[mpearling pebbles gray, — 
The waterfall in fleecy clouds 

Of mist dissolved away. 

The air so calm, and cool, and clear, 

I seemed to pierce the screen, 
And look far up the ether voids 

To heavenly pastures green. 

The crimson maples cast their leaves 

Low at my lingering feet, 
\nd all the languorous atmosphere 

With dying flowers was sweet. 

Lone ! but, oh, grand ! these autumn woods ! 

Sad, cold ami desolate ! 
The cast-off leaves and wan moonlight, 
The brown earth tesselate. 

Solemn and still, — my soul is awed ! 

Silence my spirit gives 
For all this beauty ! Here, O God, 
Thy fullest presence lives ! 



THE CHILD'S WISHES. 

()\\, if I were a robin. 

With breast ofcrimsofi red. 

And black and shiny feathers 
On my bonny, roguish head, 



THE CHILD'S WISHES. 

So high above the tree tops, 
I )ear mother, I could fly, 
VouM almost think me sailing up 

To visit yonder sky. 
( )li, if I were the south-wind, 

That sings so soft and deep, 

And scampers down the hillside- 

Among the flocks of sheep, 

I'd fan the little lambkins 
Through every sultry day, 

And make the sweet white clover 
Bloom for them all the way. 

Oh, if 1 were the streamlet 

Down in the mossy dell, 
I'd sing the whole time gently 

To the listening lily bell, — 

I'd water thirsty meadows, 
And verdant make the grass, 

Ami all the little sleepy flowers 

Would laugh to see me pass. 

Oh, if I were: a daisy 

In some shady wayside nook, 
Where the pretty village maidens 

Would pause on me to look, 
I'd charm them with my fragrance 

( )f hall' their gentle love, 
With my eyes so bright and starry 

Lilted unto heaven above. 



39 



4o 



PAST AND PRES£N7. 

But it" I were a robin, 

Or the south-wind, soft and low, 
Or the little gliding streamlet, 

Or a modest daisy blow, 
Mother, I could not slumber 

Upon your snowy breast ; 
Your kisses would not soothe me 

In the night-time into rest. 

So I'd rather be your darling 

Than anything on earth, — 
I'm happy as the happiest thing 

That ever had a birth ! 
I'd not be bird or streamlet, 

South-wind or daisy pearl ; 
But let me stay here, mother dear, 

And be your little girl. 



PAST AND PRESENT. 

What has life lost of its old royal grace, 

That even the flowers whisper to me of death ? 

Perhaps because they laid them on his face, — 
His pale, cold face they warmed not with their breath. 

The musky odor, sweet to stifling pain, 

Brings back that hour of mute despair again. 

And, memory once aroused, how many things 
Return to us we cast forth long ago ! 



BENEATH THE Moo.V. 



I' 



What pain, sometimes, a flower, or sweel scent, brings 

From ashes thai we thought had losl all glow ! 
A touch, a lone, a. breath, — ah, human heart I 
How strangely fashioned, governed, moved, thou art I 

The maple's flame thai lights the autumn hills, 

'The wasted gold ol these wild woodland ways, — 

The damp, sweet, bosky vapor that distills 

On purple ridges, all recall lost, days; 
And cloudless sunsets do for evermore 

Restore me something of the (lone Before. 

There are grand gleams of an immortal life 
Lying beyond this briel elapse of Time, 

And our hegira from this troublous strife, 
Though weakly dreaded, is a thing sublime I 

To blend all Time, Spate, Past, and all To Come, 
Into one PRESENT in that perfect home ! 



BENEATH THE MOON. 

Under the moon how the still waters gleam I 

The silver is over the breasl Ol the si ream; 
The Cream-white lilies droop languidly down, 

In fragrant e the red roses sleepily drown ; 

The feathery willow-trees shimmer and shine, 
The (\c.\v lies in diamonds upon the wild vine ; 
The asphodel closes its n<< (arons cup, 
The passion flower folds its rare beauty Up j 
And the scent of the thyme, and the mint, and the balm, 
Floats out on the wings of the infinite calm. 

5 



The meadows lie quietly wearing the green, — 
The elms to the linden-trees lovingly loan ; 
The pastures are silent, the flocks are asleep. 
The sturdy red oxen beside the white sheep ; 
No tinkle o( cow hells, no shepherd hoy's cry. 
The cricket's dull songs on the sweet silence die ; 
The amber-winged beetles cling fast to the trees, 
The golden-green butterflies hide in the leave- ; 
The bee has flown home with his burden of sweets. 
And rests in the twilight from summer noon's heats. 

The drowsy old farm-houses hidden Vi 

Under hills, and in valleys, mossv and graj . 

Are silent as churchyards, — the spirit of rest 

Has stolen upon them and maketh them blest ; 

And over the shade and the green of •• Love's 1 ane" 

The silence intensifies, e'en unto pain. 

The west skv wears faintest suggestions of pink, 

lake a brook when a red rose Stoops over to drink ; 

The forest spring murmurs a mystical tune. 

And its sweet waters sparkle under the moon. 

Oh, will the moon shine thus in all coming time. 
And earth breathe her vague voices subtly sublime? 
The flowers burn with crimson, and purple, and blue, 
The red rose be red, and the true heart be true? 
Ah ! some time in the mystical Future, we know. 
We shall all pass away from the light and the glow ; 
The dew-drops will glitter, like pearls in their beds. 
In the damp grass that covers our low lying heads 
And the robins will sing through the beautiful June, 
And the earth lie in love 'neath the beautiful moon. 



////// / / ■. BRWF, 



43 



A R N U LL1 '■ . B B I DE. 

'I m./ left her in the haunted re 

died, 
In i.1j': castle where for centuries t the 10 

pride, — 
The haughty race by ties oi Mood to royalty allied- 
How the lowered and thickened o'er that 

lonely bridal room I 
And the air of coming tempest made the windows dark 

with gloom ; 
And the damp old silken tapestry was odorous of the 

tomb. 

night was demon-haunted ; all the ^Bgean sp 

wok': ; 

On the fire-blackened mountain cliffs the thunder 

pealed and broke ; 
And in the wailing of the winds a losf immortal spoke. 

Around the grim okHurrets the boding ravenswooped, — 
'I he night's Plutonian darkness o'ei al shadow 

drooped ; 
Arid the clouds, like phantom vi sitan 

plain trooped. 



1 1 



lA'.XCl / /,VW /i A' //>/■•. 



Oh, the gloom of vaulted ceilings! oh, the gloom of 

must y halls I 
1 >id he dare to lei the taper stream up the oaken walls? 
Did he dare, to pause and listen to his Btealthy fool 

step's falls? 

A tale of blood and horror that brid.il room mighl tell ! 

W li.it dismal burden was laid down in yonder tangled 

dell? 
What crime was ever hall' so black this side the gates 
ol hell? 

Night waned. They called her to the feast in bowers 

ol jessamine ; 
They rapped upon her bolted door, crying, vainly, 

" ( rei aldine I 
The board is spread, the mastei waits, and crimson is 

the wine '" 

riic\ burst the bars, an empt} room! a bed as softly 

white 
A-, the great drifts the snow-king piles up on some 

\ ule tide night I 
A silent dearth I a nuptial room shorn of its ripe delight ! 

They sought hei far, and heralds went throughout the 

count] \ wide, 
taking of all it they had seen Axnullin's missing 

bride: 
But, ah I the gates of death were strong as the Earl's 

regnant pride ' 



/■///■ KING i/V/> i. 



r5 



THE KINC AND I. 

'I'n i. K ing i tiles over the < ounl ry ; 

Bui nevei a whit care I , 
My little meagre dominion 

I . all in my hopeful eye. 
I [e has .1. million ol I roubl< 

l ;uii at I"." «• wii h man, 
l have put ill tempered ambition 

I Fndei etei rial ban : 

Why should I envy toy.ill y ? 

Answei me, II yon i an I 

The Queen smiles on hei i oui I lei i, 

The duke's lips pi es i hei hand ; 
My lit i le will- would scorn I 

From the noble .1 in the land ! 
( riven i" me her heai 1 1 1, 

Sa< red to" me hei lips, — 
Never dares an admirei 

I'm is e'en hei fingei 1 ips ; 
And hei gentle, wifely beauty 

Puts the Queen in e< lipse. 



The I ■ in" is .1 jovial livei , 

Drink', of the 1 nine, 1 wine, 

1 , < lot hed 111 1 he royal ei mine 

And linen in;i!< hlessly fine | 

1 i.r, p Lges to gues i his wishes, 
M inions to < ome al his nod , 



\ \\ amid his pal; 

Rules like a demig 
Which will lie highest and softest, 

i [e, oi [| under the sod ? 

Gi> c me my lowly cottage, 
Mn wife and my brown eyed girl ! 

One >yal diamond, 

rhe other my priceless pearl ! 

Go, King ! ride, drink, and conquer, 
Km in /our birth and your pride \ 

1 wouldn't lift up a fin 

[*0 sit on the tin one by your side I 

For God and b true love have blessed me 
What can I ask for beside? 



ru E VOICE, 

[^here's a mute voice ever singing to me in the depths 

of air, 
I hear its plaintive breathings, soft and lonesome, 

everj where, — 
Bj the river, on the mountain, and the moorland 
Stl) bare. 

Chanting, chanting, ever chanting, its solemn melody, 
a myriad tiny pearl-shells in the deep and an 
known sea. 
I ike a band of little fairies in a bed of rosemary. 



THE VOICE. 47 

When the purple shades of night-time steal down the 

gold of day, 
And the evening flames of amber make the west a 

shining way, 

That lone and mystic melody rny spirit hears alway. 

"I ) , a lute no mortal fingers the golden strings have 
swept, 

The rich voice of an oriole whose tones have always 

slept,— 

A moaning, sighing human voice which has forever 
wept. 



Across the clover meadows where- they rake the new- 
mown hay, 
And from the azure DOSOm of the pulseless crystal bay, — 
In the dead nights of December, in the passion noons 
of May. 

Full of tender, soft complaining, floating through the 
amethyst, 

Like a ray of summer sunshine on the evening's sombre- 
mist, — 

Like an unplayed strain of music waiting in the wind- 
harp's cyst. 

Lowly, gently, — never joyous; one subdued and hal- 
lowed strain, 

Like ^ the dripping on the scented leaves of fragrant 
August rain, — 

'Tis of her heavenly harp-strings the mystical refrain. 



4 8 ANOTHER WORLD. 

Oh, my soul it leaps and struggles like the ever-trem- 
bling stars ! 

Beats against its clay-walled prison like the sea-waves 
'gainst the bars, 

Chafes like a gallant soldier prisoned in the sight of 
wars ! 

All the world is spirit-haunted, only that we've ears of 

stone ; 
Calling! calling! ever calling! I have ears for that 

alone ! 
Oh, a phantom voice is calling me from shadeland's 

vast unknown ! 



A 



ANOTHER WORLD. 

THERE arc brighter skies than these, I know ; 

Lands where no shadows lie, — 
Fields where the tlowers are always fresh, 

And founts which never dry. 
There are domes where the stars are never dim. 

Where the moon forever gleams, 
And the wind in music sweeps the hills 

And ripples the crystal streams; 
For often I've caught, in time of sleep, 
A gorgeous glimpse of this hidden keep, 

Away in the Kami oi Dreams. 

When Night lets down her pall of mist 
On slender cords of air, 



MA V ALLONBY. 49 

And the purple shades of the dying Day 

Are teeming everywhere, 
While the drowsy beetles chant their lay 

In the wild field-lily's cells, 
And the solemn voice of the homeless wind 

Along the highland swells, 
I know, by the cry of my soul within, 
'There's a place where they shut the gates on sin, 
And the God of glory dwells ! 



MAY ALTON BY. 

NlGHT has come down o'er the lone sea, 
The wild wind has risen to frenzy, — 

The spirits of Dread walk the shore, — 
Across the long stretch of the quicksands, 
And over the bleak, gloomy headlands, 

Is heard the billows' grim roar. 

Oh, angry and treacherous ocean ! 

Oh, " white-caps" in fiendish commotion ! 

Be kind to the ships in your care ! 
Be merciful to the bold rangers, 
Who've dared all your perils and dangers, 

Whose brave hearts never despair ! 

The fisherman's cot on the Boar's Head 

Is light with the pitch-torch's blaze red, 

And it streams far over the lee. 



So 



.]/,/) \LLONBY, 

The fisherman's girl lights the beacon, 
Her sweet faith the storm cannot weaken, 
Nor the crash of the incoming sea. 

There are wrecks on the ocean ibis dread night, 

Far over the wave shines the Hue Light, 

The minute-guns boom ou the din. 

There arc brave hearts in agony toiling; 
But, alas! all their wild efforts toiling, — 

'The mad breakers hurry them in. 

Out over the sands in the morning 
Men go at the first crimson dawning, — 
Oh. fisherman's daughter, bewail ! 

Thy lover, tin true, loyal lover, 

The pi ide o\ the (air town of I )over, 

Was lost in yesternight's gale 1 

She- leads on the wreck's cast up timbers 
The name of the bark she remembers, — ■ 

The letters spell — May A.llonb\ I 

For he named his taut craft in her honor. 

oh, how the grief-chills creep upon her 

As she thinks of him dead in the sea ! 

The years have gone by like a vision, 
But still in a fancy Blysian 

she wanders the cold Hampton sands, — 
Looking out o'er the Lone waste of billows, 

As the) toss up their foamy white pillows 

And woo her with phantom white hands ! 



SI 'MMER IS GONE 



S V M M E R IS CON E. 

Across the fields the gleaming gold 

( >i Autumn time steals :.l<>w ; 
The maples flush with 1 1 imson heat, 

The sumachs fei vid glow ; 
The morning airs are damp and i ool, 

At night the skies are gray ; 
The wild wood silence tells the tale 

Thai Summer's gone away. 

We miss the birds that sang iii June, 
We miss I lie sued lipped llmvers, 

We miss the soil. airs ol I lie SOUth, 
We miss the long, slow hours. 

These autumn days are all too short ; 
Though l»i illi.ini in decay, 

Their vci y splendor saddens Us, 

For Summer's gone away. 
The frosl weed blossoms l>y the brook 

The nutS, in forest shades, 

I )rop one by one ; the asters pale 
I lide iii the woody gladesj 

The mornings shorten, and the :,ini 

Falls with a slanting ray, — 
All nature tells us mournfully, 

Thai Summer's gone away. 



5» 



5 2 A BROKEN DREAM. 



\ 



A BROKEN DREAM. 



We met one evening just as sunset kissed 
The glowing hills to blushes burning red, — 

One summer evening when the sea's gray mist 

Hung thick above the rocks on Lighthouse Head ; 

And warm, soft shades of amber, flecked with gold, 
Played o'er the sands so cold, and white, and dead. 

I can recall e'en now, though years have fled, 
The very smell of clover on the breeze, — 

And as I stand here breathless and alone, 

The same salt scent floats to me from the seas, 

And on the shore the waves press slowly up, 
Breaking their hearts in music on the lees. 

We parted when the dismal autumn rain 

Fringed the drear hills with gray and ghostly white, 
And through the leafless trees, in wordless pain, 

The wind sobbed wildly to the listening night ; 
And at long intervals the death-pale moon 

Showed, through the clouds, a globe of sickly light. 

We met and parted. Others do the same ; 

And lives are shipwrecked every sunny day. 
We bear the torture, — hide the rending pain, — 

And show the world our faces bright and gay ; 
And no one dreams the worm is at the heart 

Of the sweet rose that burst to bloom in May. 



53 



A BROKEN DREAM. 

No love-words spoke we, for between our souls 
An icy shadow stood, ghost-like and dim, 

More deadly dreadful than the sea that rolls 
Up the black headlands when the tide is in ! 

Keeping our lives eternally apart, — 

Oh, fateful Presence ! tireless, stern, and grim ! 



Bound to another ! Vows must not be broke ! 

If hearts break, let them ! Well, the world is wide 
There lieth safety in mad words unspoke ; 

Let silence seal the tomb where Hope has died ! 
The world would call it sin to kiss thy lips, 

So here in quietude let me abide, — 

Here, where the sea broadens out blue and cold 
For weary leagues, to meet the southern shore, 

Where in the summer sunshine's fadeless gold 
Life is to thee a calm, for evermore ! 

And not a pale regret e'er stirs thy heart 
For the brief Indian summer gone before. 

Here let me stay, hoping the wind will bear, 

As a sweet augury of peace, to me, 
Some breath of air that has across thee blown 

In that fair land beyond the purple sea, — 
And that the low, melodious song of waves 

May bring my soul suggestions full of thee ! 



5 1 






CRO FT E N TO w E R 

I r \- ii oft -ii nightfall, 

And i think the sunset gold 
Is loath to ifii. h \\ nil kindl) light 

Thai mansion dai k and old . 
.\ iu I n seems as Ii the hea> i m 

I'h.n hang .ii'»>\ e its rooi 
,\ re M"i b< ■ blu( as ol hei s\n ii 

Anil im iluM keep alooi 

The birds build no1 theii airj nests 

\\ ii inn the shadow ing 1 1 ees . 
A dead > aim holds its dreai \ i ourt 

\\ ii inn i he mould) lea) i 
\\ lid i oses spi in;: u here on< e in pi ide 

Rare tropic blossoms gr< w 
But not •' human eye is glad 

'l\> meet I heii modest hue, 

The garden w alks are o*\ ergi ow n 

\\ uh brambles and \\ iiii weeds, — 
Onl) the squirrel oi 1 1 1 < \.w 

( In the 1 1* i> ii uitage feeds | 
The mellow peach and nei tai inc 

1 1. in:: i ipel) from the bough, 
Ami. .ill untouched, the pui pie grapes 

Tin' trellises endow 



CROFTKN /•'////; 



v, 



I >imi ii md i le< i v are evei /where ' 

I In- in in ,n hi • H M i- BO ". I) 

Stand • lone md ill nl . ill It . pi ide 

\ in I glorj fled away 
1 1 b high an bed dooi •. and windi >ws kali 

\ 1 1- « losed .Hid Iim ked forc'cr, 

F( .1 Mi .1 I In' |m || ,|r ,| i lull | i.| W.llll 

Would ii ii -i. b dwelling there. 
The bi hoolboy i hoke i his mei i y g, 

< .Mm Lin:, In . lagg p. i' '•, 

,\ iii I glam e • ba< k with feai h ime eye 

\i tin . .I.- icrted plai e ; 
The we try lal si shuns i he pat Ii 

That pas ies by il • door, 
\ mi takes 1 he long and toil tome trai I 

A< ross the di itant mum 

I mind hie i >l a vani ihe< I time, 

When iii: a old house wa i bi ighl 
Willi life and |oy, mil fe it Ive mil th 

r in" < >ii i upon the night ; 
When gi a< eful forms and faces fail 

Bi ightened the stately hall i, 
A 1 1 1 1 lamps "i gold i 1 1 > < I ormolu 

Lit up the poli ihed wall ■ 



\ 'in i. and ii in-Iii \ mill was he, 
The mastei oi the tower, — 

The pe< iplc i iwned foi mile i around 
The mi" i' "i his powei I 



\ 

Handsome, and proud, and arr< 
His soul self-cursed with scorn, — 

riu-x said Kis Spanish mother died 
fhe night her child was bom. 



i [c w ooed and « on a gentle girl, 

Pure as the saints abo^ e 
She gave him all hei sweet j ust, 

1 [ei confidence and lo\ e ; 

She glorified the tower awhile, 

l ik< sunlight beam, — 

rhen pallid grew ; her Pace lost light, 
Her eye its happ) gleam. 

c^io dreary night, when tempests roared ( 
Ami thunder shrieked in pain, 

And sheets of livid lightning flashed 
Their flame-tongues through the rain,- 

Red blood was spilt ! a right to Heaven 
( me weai j soul had w i 

But ah ! the i I rod be W.- 

When there's a murder done ! 

He lived unpunished ; but he died 

In torments none can tell ! 
The anguish of his tortured soul 

A tore:.-.,' \\ OS of hell. 
His own hand cut the thread of life 

\. last : and all alone 
rhrough the dark Silence he went forth. 

Forth to the dread Unknown, 



THE SONG Of* THE FACTORY. 

\ he tow* t is lefl to solitude, 

Bui oft, on stoi my nights, 
'I ii' a .'. < itrucl J-' ople >a y I be tvindowi 

r.l.i/.' -.7,1 li f< ,i ive lighl - ; 
And .''in' i mi' , on the murlt y ail 

B in;';, out a tvailing dirge, 
Like th( sea's moaning when it bears 

I )ead men upon its surg< 



">l 



I'll E SONG 01 ill E l A C'l OE v 

Ton, from morning i ill night, 

Toil at the < lattei ing loom I 
Wii.li nevei a kindly word to lighl 

'I he blank and dusl y room I 
Work, vvitli a breaking hearl , 

An'1 a w<-::: y, bui iting brain I 
Work, while the dried up teai drops start, 

Then sink to theii bed again, — 
Oh I heart, and head, and soul, going mad 

WmIi the hungei gnawing pain. 



'I oil foi 1 he meagre take 

01 ' heating Death oi hi . right I 
Toil lesl the faithful shears oi Fate 

Sever the warp of life I 
J)'i it, and darkness, and gloom, 

Noise, and bustle, and roai I 
6* 



THE SONG OF THE /■"/. 0R\ 

Cobwebs curtain the dusk) room, 

Filthiness carpets the floor ; 
While .ill day long with the ceaseless toil 

My In-. 11 1 i . gl ow tng soi e. 

Blighting my j oung life's moi n I 

l tanging its sk) with a shroud, — 
v \ ei dare 1 think of a dawn 

I ' nliid in a dismal cloud ! 
\\ \w nol summon up death ? 

What is life here below ? 
Whal is .i faint and flickering breath, 

To balance this \\ earing woe ? 
Oh, God : oh, God I shall l bear It still 

<, >i . before rhou call's) me, ,o 

Ah ! my sistei *s pallid face 

Is holding me ever back ' 
I dare no1 shiver life's crystal vase 

Ami step from the thorn) track ! 
Foi l hear her moaning cries, 

I [er hung] j ci ies for bi ead, — 
Ami to death and rest I close my eyes, 

Ami pi) in\ shuttle and thread ; 
For she would suffer, and die of want, 

\\ ere 1 v* ith the blessed dead. 

Oh for one little hour 

Amid the fresh green grass ! 
To smell the balm) wild field flower, 

Ami watch the itiadows pa 



THE SONG "i' i Hi' i' \CTOR I 

fu t a . I us< 'I i" do 

1,1 <■ Mi'- .1 inn ii'n geemed, 
i,p Hope's stai faded on my view 

A n<l i In- hours wii li anguish teemi 'I ; 
Alas ' ala i ' oi this pi nl up life 

M v < In l ( Hi''' -'I ii' •/' i dreamed I 



V) 



Toil for a hard, dry ci usl , 

Willi hand that nev< i lag , 
Coining my very soul to dusl 

Foi a bed oi squalid i 
I' oi ;| shi Itei ovei my head , 

A 1 1' k'iy, leaking roof, 
Where the v<iy swallows with looks ol dread 

Keep from the i aves aloof, 
A ii'l i he sunbeams hai dly deign to weave 

'I ii'n golden fingered wool I 

( !lang ! ' lang I from the belfi y tall, 
"I is i he wel< ome evening bell 1 

< 'old, wc'n ■/ hcai ts leap al I he call, 

'l he i all Hi* y know so well ; 
'I o re i ' ah, name mi igiven ! 

Ri st, wit li a breaking heai I ? 
'I hi re is no n .i this side ol heaven, 

No rest i ill the soul depai t ! 

< )h, who would live to .nil' i and bear 

Grim Povei ty's bittei smart? 

And il 's home to my s< anty fare, 
And home to my hovel drear : — 

Oh, will ( rod's angels evei i are 
To hovei my dwelling neai ? 



Oo MY SUITORS, 

1 close my eyes to sleep, 
Bui there is no rest within I 

I turn and twist on mv hard Straw heap, 

Like a child of crime and sin ! — 
For it's ever ringing in my oars. 
The Factory's hateful din ! 



M y SUl TO RS. 

1 n w e two suitors for my kindly grace, — 

The one a farmer's boy, with hard, brown hands; 
The other is a high-born English earl, 

With Stately castles on his wide spread lands. 

My Lord Eugene has a fair classic face, — 

And pearls and gold lace all his robes bestrew ; 

While Charlie has an honest sunburnt check. 

And wears a private's uniform of blue : 
1 do not think 1 ought to care for both, — ■ 

Do you ? 

Both say they love me ; both are very kind ; 

Eugene will shield me from all care and strife ; 
Charlie will give me all his warm true heart, 

And 1 shall be a Union soldier's wife. 
Eugene will never leave me. -so he says ; 

But soon to Charlie 1 must say adieu. 

And think of him upon the dang'rous field, 
And lie awake to pray the whole night through ! 

He may come back no more, — I'll not be cold, — 
Would you ? 



OUT IN THE CO /./). (, i 

I saw Eugene in furious anger once, 
Beating his horse till every quivering limb 

Of the proud beasl hardened to sinewy steel, 
And the deep eyes flashed lightning back to him! 

Charlie's white mare knows not the coward whip! 

lie feeds her with red (lover wet with dew, — 

I smooth her mane, soft as Etalia's silk, 
And, loving her, think of* her master too 1 

I could not trust the man who beats his horse, — 
( lould you ? 

Welcome! soft summer night I ablaze with stars! 

Mushed rosy with the lang'rous smile of day ! 

Welcome! warm breezes thai haveswept through groves 
# Of orange trees, around some southern bay! 
Anchored, my heart's'al rest! a calm supreme 
Fills me with voiceless pea< e, so strangely new, 

I almost fear to hold and make it mine, 

Lesl it should vanish like the morning dew ! 
I do not think I shall regret the Earl, — 
I )o you ? 



(IT I N TH E COM). 

THE hoarse winds whistle, and bluster by, 
The heavens are frigid and gray, — 

The foam-white river washes the sands, — 
The sea-waves beal in the hay, 

And the dim sad rain is drowning the sun, 
The sun at the noon of day. 



6 2 OUT /.V THE COl />. 

l sk in the firelight crimson and warm, 
W'nh luxury circling rne round, 

The soft silk of [ndia, the velvets of France, 
Fail over \\^\ sweeping the ground, — 

The dropping oi fountains In crystalline cups 
Wooes peace with its musical sound. 

Bui 1 shiver and shudder at every breath 

i )f the wind as it passes bj ' 
M\ hand reaches out foi one other hand, — 

Aiul m\ lips are st ifling a cr} ! 
\ ( i \ foi the Lost, — the Idolized I ost I 

The i ost in the voids of the sk} ' 

( )ut in the terrible cold she lies, 

Out in the pitiless rain ! 
Houseless and homeless, -sin- whom 1 loved 

So deeply that loving was pain ! 
What had she done that she must be smitten ? 

( >i\ ! but repinings are vain, 

iLuwn be merciful ! Heaven be kind ! 

While I am j oung I am old ! 
With wear) ponderings over her fate, 

l ,\ mi; w ithout in the cold ! — 

1 \ ing so pallid, 1 .ost ! I ,0St ' I OSt ' 

Out iii the bitter cold ! 



TRIFl I - 



63 



T R 1 F LES. 

1 ,111 1.1. Bl I'.iiiiIi I , nun nun' 

On thy quid way, 
Down in low 1,1 1 id meadows 

Kiss the crowfoot 
Ri fresh the thirsty 1 attle, 

< !ool 1 he reapei 's bi ow, 
Lave the hazel bushi s 

\viii( 1 1 the ripe nuts bow, 
All thy course with I ible gifl .. 

Little stream, endow. 

Red lipped, blushing daisy, 

Ti ide will pa is 1 hee by, — 
Dili 1 hy modesl sweel 111 

Draws the thoughtful 1 
Cast t hy fragranl odors 

( >n 1 he ■ "ii south breeze. 
Tout ii the brow oi beaul y, 

Si <-iii the < lovei seas, 
Make a feasl oi honey 

I'm the toiling bi 

White « loud, sail the azure, 

'Mid the < 1 y ital stars, 
Drop thy gra< eful shadow 

Through the ambei bai 



«l 



e 

k rathei si rength Mid moistui e, 
i vi ( he i .mi i ome doM n 

i\'.u h , pure, and hea\ enl) . 
( m the dust ) to^ n, 

\lii he ill ought parched counti \ 
\\ iih ilu- i u h Rood di om n, 

Sw eet west vi Ind . steal soft i\ 

I >ovi n the ro) al heights 
In t In ill i>\\ «\ dayt ime, 

in the stai bi ight nights 
\\ .hi tin balm ol healing 

( >\ ei lonel) mooi s, 
1 m .u palace w indov s, 

in .u cottage doors . 
Give i he I oiling millions 

i [ealth from iln lull stores 



Soul, with nature humble, 

Guard tin talent small ; 
Staj tin feet on \ irtue, 

rake heed lest the) fall, 
Cheer ilu v sad and weai j . 

l end -i helping hand, — 
God loves an eai nest vi oi kei 

\\ ln» heeds the wise command) 
To let his light shine broadcast 

i y cv tlu v gracious land. 



M //'/'// 



'' 



MARIO 

-in. pas .< 'I away, 
Lil i a fail stai " Lost on the brow oi day ;" 
Like the e< ho <>\ laughtei sw< el and 
Like the perfume whi< h died ou( yesterday; 
A', evening's silvei dissip ,..], 

A'- the iweel musi< of a tale 6(\ told, 
A • ""' red ' loud . that round the mountain fold 
Ac- i hanged to gray, — 
passed a 

She pa wed away, 
Like the soft sunshine of an autumn day, 
Like the misf wreath* from ofl a lunlii b; 
Like the lighl footsteps ol a woodland fay j 
A'- the bright rainbow spanning the dark sky, 

As thistle down when stormy wind , are high, 

As the hope light, born in 

v;j.y. 



66 THE DRUNKARD'S WIFE. 



THE DRUNKARD'S WIFE. 

Loud roar the winds, the cutting ice-bolts fall, 
The whirling snow is borne along the air; 

The dark pine-trees shriek to the wind's wild call, 
And writhe like conquered giants in despair. 

Cold, by the fireless hearth, a mother kneels, 
Clasps to her breast a hunger-dying child ! 

The life-blood in her veins with cold congeals. — 
Starvation glitters in her dark eye wild. 

"OGod!" she cries,— "O God! look on my child! 

Sweet Heaven, have pity ! My poor darling spare ! 
To die ! to die ! those lips that on me smiled ! 

To wither in the grave-mould this brow fair. 

" Black gloom and darkness ! chillier grows the night ! 

The midnight bell has tolled ! lie is not here ! 
He lingers o'er the wine-cup red and bright, — 

Unmindful that the morning draweth near. 

" My babe ! how cold ! my tears freeze on thy cheek, 
So pinched with want, I turn from it away ! 

Hark ! hear the rushing of the north wind bleak ! 
No food, — no fire, — to cheer the coming day! 



THE DRUNKARD'S WIFE. 5- 

" Oh, loved ! and lost ! oh that he'd turn and flee,— 
Flee from the monster ere his doom is fixed ! 

Cursed be the wine-cup ! thrice accursed be he 
Who for his fellow-man hath poison mixed ! 

" My child ! oh, Heaven send pity from above ! 

He turns upon me such strange wistful eyes ; 
I press his lips, with all my deep strong love,— 

Striving to hold him back from Paradise. 

"In vain ! the angels call ! oh, cruel Death ! 

My husband ! Come ! he's dying,— he,— our own ! 
One feeble sigh, —gone is the fluttering breath ! 

Great God ! 'tis o'er, and I am all alone. 

" My darling one ! my beautiful ! my bright ! 

Gone home ere sorrow in thy breast was born, 

I follow thee,— I see the beckoning light 

On heavenly shores ! I go to greet the Morn." 

Wild the cold winds roared on ; the drifting snow 
Wove for the mother and her babe a shroud ; 

The drunkard lingered in the wine's red glow, 
Where on the air fell laughter long and loud. 

The eastern heavens blushed with rosiest light, 
The crimson day across the Orient broke ; 

In the calm land where faith is changed to sight, 
The mother and her angel child awoke. 



68 THE MARCH OF LIFE. 



Til E M ARCH OV LIFE, 

With noiseless tread the fleeting years go by, 

And leave but memories of their griefs ami joys : 
Ami life's gay vanities we prize so high, 
When looking back, are valueless as toys. 

Oh, lapse of time ! oh, days forever fled ! 

Oh, youth and gladness passed for evermore ! 

Ob, fond, sweet hopes that lie so told and dead. 
And strewn like wrecks, along life's rugged shore! 

Once, all the world was bathed in rosy light. 

The future hid itself in golden haze, — 
Mornings of perfect beauty burst from night 

And lost themselves in glow of heavenly days. 

We stood beside life's sea, and felt no chill : 
The tides leaped up in music on the sands : 

We heard no cries of lost souls break the still, — 
We saw no beckoning gleam of dead white hands. 

Ah, well ! we live and suffer ! love and lose; 

Graves of our dead are green along the wa\ ; 
And as we near the twilight shades and dews, 

We find it is IVeember. and not May, 



SUMMER. 



69 



God grant us Faith, and unto it we'll cling! 

Faith wln'< h a< < epts all things as for the best; 
\Vlii( h looks for death only to bring some change, 

Some pleasant change, and trusts Him for the rest. 



SUMM E R. 



Summer on the mountains, 

Where the heather blows ; 
Summer in the fountains, 

Where the water flows, — 
Bend the clouds in shadow 

O'er the roeky height, 
Sunshine in the meadow 

With the clover white ; 
All the earth's a picture, 

Made of shade and light. 

Children pick the berries 

All along the leas, — 
Pluck the blood-red cherries 

From the drooping trees, — 
Chase the nimble squirrel 

Over hill and brae, 
Put the calm in peril 

With their laughter gay ; 
Scatter wide the clover smell 

From the new-mown hay. 
7 : ' 



7° 



THE PAST. 

At the hush of even, 

Glow the silver stars, 
Through the purple heaven's 

Soft empyrean bars ; 
On the shore the billows 

Break their melodies, 
While the snow-winged vessels 

Shiver in the breeze, — 
God ! thy living Spirit 

Stands upon the seas. 



THE PAST. 



The Past ! I would not make it dead ! 

Its glories I would keep, 
Though they be like the empty dreams 

That haunt me in my sleep. 
I would not have the splendor fade 

That gleams across lost days, 
Like the red brilliance of the light 

Left on the sunset ways. 

I would not pluck the lotus leaf, 

Though it might heal the pain 
That thrills me, often, when I touch 

Some link in Memory's chain; 
Nor would I dip in Lethean wave, 

Though it were crystal clear, — 
It might destroy some tender thought 

That makes me quiet here. 



LOOKING BEYOND. 

The sharp experience that Time gives, 

We greatly profit by ; 
'Tis well to keep remembrances 

Of all our errors nigh, — 
Perhaps 'twill help us to forgive 

The wrongs that others do, 
To bear in mind, while blaming them, 

That we are guilty too. 

And then, there are such pleasant things 

Connected with the Past, 
That o'er the whole of life's rough track 

A glow of light they cast ! 
Touches, and tones, and tender thrills, 

Caresses lost fore'er ; 
But still they give suggestions dim 

Of what might have been here. 



7i 



LOOKING BEYOND. 

What is there in the summer air to-night 
That minds me of a sweet day long o'erpast? 

What is there in this waning mellow light 

That brings old memories to me thick and fast ? 

Is it the scent of purple heliotrope, 

That steals up to me from the garden-bed ? 

Or the white clover on the meadow slope ? 

Or the lush strawberries glowing ripe and red ? 



7 2 



LOOKING BEYOND. 



Oh, Life! oh, Death! oh, mystic veil of sense, 
That stretches 'tween this world and that to come ! 

Will that life be sufficient recompense 
For what we suffer here in silence dumb ? 

Our deepest sorrows never can be told ! 

Our ghastliest wounds we cover up from sight ! 
The griefs- that make our youthful brows grow old 

Are those we hide in silence and in night. 

I wonder if the dead have hope, or thought, 

For us who sorrow on in mortal clay ! 
I wonder if their heavenly lives have brought 

Them so much joy, they never look away — 

Away to earth ! where those they loved are still 
Breasting the stormy waves of adverse fate, 

Looking, with eyes so mutely pitiful, 
For the unfolding of the golden gate. 

I grow so weary, sometimes, it would be 
Sweet as a mother's kiss upon my brow, 

To know that those who've crossed the Unknown Sea, 
Those whom I loved, have pity for me now ; 

To know that when I sorrow they look down 

With tender eyes from Immortality, — 
To know that those who wear a fadeless crown 

In heaven's glory, still have care for me. 



HUMILITY. 73 



HUMILITY. 

There is a little river 

Down below the meadow-land, 
Where the ripples beat in music 

On the snowy, pebbled sand, 
And the foam from tiny rapids 

Glistens like a spirit hand. 

There are no wondrous cataracts 

To win a nation's gaze, 
No cruel, treacherous eddies, 

No wild and devious ways ; 
But the sweet river waters fields, 

And gladdens lonely braes. 

There frowns not on its borders 

The castle of a king ; 
But down in shady valleys, 

Where bells of cattle ring, 
They say the little river 

Is a kind and blessed thing. 

No hoary, stately cypresses, 

Crowned with clinging mistletoe, 

Lean o'er the quiet waters, 
Or are mirrored in their flow ; 

And yet the river's power is felt 
In ocean's undertow. 



74 



Aiul a single word of kindness. 

Spoken to a heart that's cold, 

May be priceless as the jewels 

Which princes wore of old ! 

For a little smile of charity 

Is better than tine gold. 



MY LITTLE 1 \ P V IN Bl U 1- 

My Little Lady In Blue ! 

1 follow her down the street. 
And look in the sand tor the dainty print, 

The winsome print of her feet, — 
Feet so charmingly, cunningly tleet, — 

Gaiters but number two I 
My heart leaps up at sound of her step. 

And beats a noisy tattoo ' 
Airiest, fairest, sweetest, and best ! 

My Little Lady in Blue, 

Cheeks like the roses of Spain ! 

Hair in ringlets ofgold, — 
tossing and waxing at every step. 

Billows of sunlight unrolled ! 
Hands like the fluttering leaf of a lily. 

Graceful, stainless in hue. 
White, aristocratic, small hands. 

Shared by the favored few I 
Never were hands, in all the wide world. 

lake those of My 1 adv in Blue ! 



JN THE SNOW. 75 

Singing birds, in the trees, 

Chant their merriest song 
When this little witch of a girl 

Comes lightly tripping along! 
Would I were the balmy wrest wind ! 

I'd sail the purple iroids through, 
And rest m the shadow made by her curls, 

And taste of her crimson lips' dew; 
And the envying world should look on me 

And My Little \My in Blue ! 



I \ 'I H E SNO VV. 

Silent the world lies 'neath a steel-blue sky; 

'J he wind-, are still in the old creaking pines, — 
'J he oak tree lifts its brawny arms on high, 

Crowned and festooned by cream-white flowering 
vines. 

The English poplar stands up grim and brown, 

A patriarchal giant bravely bold, 
With long white- hair, and royal ermine gown, 

Like some- Lord Magistrate in times of old. 

The- gate-pOSts, tipped and plumed like grenadiers, 
Stand sentinels in silence stern and grave; 

The knotted well-sweep its gaunt length uprears, 
Chiselled, and carved, a marble- architi 



\ s \. 

The well is lost, :'v road is Mot tod out ; 

w . .>; high, the drifts shut in the farm-house dooi ; 

rhe brushy woodpile has been put to rout, 
Subdued and shrouded, it is seen no more. 

Crystal stalactites hang from all the eaves, 
The clapboard nails rejoice in silver ti] 

Curtains of lace, with pearl embroidered leaves, 

Wrap all the windows in their pale ecli] 

rwigS that were only poor stioks yesterday 

lo night's magician into pearls has turned ; 
The spruces wear the soft robes of a t"a\ . 

The pines a right to diamond sprays have earned. 

The grape-vine arbor boasts its ivorv bars ; 

The trellises with icy eones are bright : 
The hawthorn hedge is flecked with glittering ^tars. 

And all the garden's stately [lowers are white. 

The brook has closed its song and gone to sleep 

Beneath its coverlet of fleecy white ; 
The smothered river, rolling dark and deep. 

Is mute and silent as the dumb-mouthed Night. 

There is a hush o'er all things that we view ; 

A dead white silence rests on all below ; 
The pale moon slowly sails the dark clouds throug 

Below, the earth is buried in the snow ■ 



DEAD AND ALIVE. 77 



DEA \) A N D A LI V E. 

There'i a rague and terrible something, to-night, 

Abroad in the depths of the air, — 
10 it-like breath is < old on my ) 

Its finger are cold in my hair ; 
I stand on the headland barren and bleak, 

And strain n .<: dark, 

And i see bul arily up 

And break on the pebble strewn are, — 
The arc oft.li'.- cape, where the lighthouse gleam.. 

A blood-red, tremulous spark. 

What do J look for, coming to me, — 

To ni'.-, from the waste of the • 
Orient gems, sweet-smelling spices, and silks, 

Breast-high in the slow argo 
What arc jewels and odors to me, — 

A regnant queen in my j>rid<; ? 
What do I care if the merchant-ships 

Are tossed on the- treacherous tide? 
They are not with my fortune, or with my thoughts, 

l>y the frailest tenure allied. 

I wonder — I'm full of wonder, to-nighl 

If the mist that is rolling down 
Would choke the mortal cries of a soul, 

A soul that the ocean would drown ? 

8 



7 8 DEAD AND A I TVE, 

1 wonder if men, when they struggle for life 

In the sinuous arms of the sea, 

Have leisure to think while sinking down, down, 
To think of the fearful To-Be? 

I wonder if /v, should lie perish tO-night, 

Would cast back a thought after me? 
Through the rain, and the spoon-drift, I fancy 1 see 

'The ghastly white form of a ship, — 
1 hear the strain oi the cordage aloft, 

And the cutwater's laboring clip, — 
Only a moment. — the vision is gone ; 

1 hear but the wind sweep the shore, 
And see but the death-cold gray of the fog, 

And the billows toss up as before ; 
But the cry of a drowning, agonized soul 

Will ring in my ears evermore! 

I know it ! I feel it here in my breast ! 

Gone down in the horrible deep! 
Uncoffined, unknelled, — no kiss on his lips 

To reconcile him to his sleep ! 
To lie in unquiet for ages to come, 

While 1 must exist as I be ! 
Be pitiful of me, sweet saints in Heaven, 

Death in life compasses me ! 
My Thought and my Breath walk lonesomely here, 

And m\- Heart lies buried at sea. 



STARS <>/' NIGHT. 79 



STARS OF NIGHT. 

The shades have < ome, they rest on wood and Held, 
The day is gone, and vanished is the light; 

The purple skies a faint, soft splendor yield, 
Illumined by the glowing stars of night. 

In the dim gray of evening it is sweet 

To wander o'er the fields, with dew-drops bright, 
Lingering along where leaf; the brook's lithe feet, 

Gazing upon the glorious stars of night. 

Come, Night ! I love thy quiet, hallowed still ! 

There is no gloom in thy dark wings to me ; 
Grandeur and awe, my soul ran drink its fill 

Of thy majestic, vast sublimity. 

Roll on, fair stars, in beauty grand, sublime*, 

Your matchless forms half hid from mortal sight ! 

Singing fore'er those unheard, heavenly chimes 
Which reach to God ! ye glorious stars of night. 



go IT C( 



i r COM E I'll. 

1 1' cometh ! the day after night-time, 

The sunshine after the rain, 
The golden sky after a tempest, 

1 tappiness after sharp pain : 
Then lift up thy head, silly weeper, 

And take up thy burden again. 

There's .1 hope star gleaming and glowing, 

Though hid in a vapory mist ; 
There's a beautiful pinnacled city 

Away in the blue amethyst : 
And the mountains burst out of shadow 

When their brows by sunshine are kissed. 

Men level the oak of the forest. 

But the roots remain in the earth. 

They clamor for newer existence, 
And spring to strong second birth ; 

And 'tis thus with a fortune-crushed mortal. 
Whose soul has the true royal worth. 

The best steel has most refining. 
Gold is assayed by hot fire ; 

And the heart is oft tried by the wrecking 
Of passion, and hope, and desire; 

But the wind which will conquer a sparrow- 
Hut makes an eagle soar higher. 



MY LOVE, Si 

And k om to wall 
Am.. ', led millio 

Man, made in ' oi Oo'i ' 



M V LOVE 

'I hoi dark cornei nt, 

'I o me unl no 
I'v: never dared to dim depth, 

Lesi 
AnH yet, I kno 

Live there alo 

I know not if I'd lo ' arm, 

Or thy lips' kiss, — 
l never ling* i le, 

Lest it be bl 
Arid would I rr,k to drink of perfect joy 

In world like th ? 

Often, at midn - omes 

And / me; 
I ' i /id, intei folds me round, 

And then I long to be 
\w some unpeopled, tr; 

Alo • with i hee< 

8* 



8 2 BROTHER AND SISTER. 



BROTHER AND SISTER. 

I Ik sat on the lofty highlands, 

Or climbed to the eagle's nest; 
Wore the mountain rose in his helmet, 

The chamois skin on his breast; 
He laughed at the vivid lightning, 

Shrank not at the thunder's roar ; 
And his dark eye flashed when the wild sea-waves 

Burst on the frightened shore. 

She was a meek-eyed woman ; 

She lingered in lowly vales, 
And gathered the dew-wet daisies 

That grew in the sunny dales; 
She trembled when raged the tempest, 

And paled at the angry sea; 
For her soul was attuned to the low, soft strains 

Of Love's sweet melody. 

He fought for the love of conquest, 

Was first in the battle's brunt ; 
He bore down the mail-clad warriors, 

Like deer in the forest hunt ; 
And they crowned his brow with laurel, 

Thundered his fame to the world, 
And wrote his name, in letters of fire, 

On the flag his valor unfurled. 



BROTHER AND SISTER. 83 

Her life was a calm, flowing river, 

Going ever pleasantly on ; 
Her world was the cottage, and meadow, 

Walled in by the blue horizon ; 
She soothed every heart that was weary, 

And kissed off the tears of the sad, — 
Oh, many a spirit that good woman made 

Rise up from grief and be glad. 

He died, as dieth the hero, 

Unflinching, fearless, and brave ! 
Defying the waiting death-angel, 

Defying the deep hungry grave ! 
She died, as the soft summer sunset 

Goes out o'er the hills of the west, 
Put her hands in the hands of her Saviour, 

And leaned her head on His breast. 

Oh, who, in the time that approacheth, 

Shall mete out to each the reward ? 
Which one has done best with the talents 

Vouchsafed by the hand of the Lord ? 
Will he wear the crown of the conqueror? 

Will her brow be bound with joy's glow ? 
Will he, or she, gain the true happiness? 

Ah ! who that is mortal may know ? 



84 THE OLD BARN 



THE OLD BARN. 

Rickety, old, and crazy, 

Shingleless, lacking some doors; 
Bad in the upper story, 

Wanting boards in the floors ; 
Cobwebs over the rafters, 

Ridge-pole rotten and gray, 
Hanging in helpless impotence 

Over the mows of hay. 

Oh, how I loved the shadows 

That clung to the silent roof! 
Day-dreams wove with the quiet 

Many a glittering woof! 
I climbed to the highest cross-beam. 

Watched the swallows at play, 
Admired the knots in the boarding, 

And rolled in billows of hay. 

Roughly the winds tore round it, 

Winds of a stormy day, — 
Scattering the fragrant hay-seed, 

Whirling the straws away ! 
Streaming in at the crannies, 

Spreading the clover smell, 
Changing that dark old granary 

Into a flowery dell. 



EARL Y FANCIES. 85 



EARLY FANCIES. 

A little child I loved the night, 

The purple twilight sky, — 
The yellow moon hung like a lamp 

Up in the arched dome high ; 
And when June's sunshine kissed the hills, 

Played on the clover slopes, 
I said the stars were coming down 

To earth on silver ropes. 

In the lone autumn of the year, 

I watched through window bars 
The last faint crimson fade away 

Before the brightenin g. stars \ 
And then I feared the angels' cheeks 

Were paling at some grief; 
I thought, perhaps they, too, bemoaned 

The "sere and yellow leaf." 

Winter came on, with glory nights 

Of Northern skies aflame : 
My childish heart was awed by these, 

And trembled at their name ! 
For then, I thought, the great, good God, 

From His bright home on high, 
Was angry at my many sins, 

So burnt the midnight sky. 



S6 FALSE. 

But lovely spring-time, dressed in flowers, 

Blushed o'er the happy earth; 
My soul arose ! my spirit woke 

To a thrice nobler birth ! 
When I looked up to the mild skies, 

I deemed myself forgiven, 
And through the mist I almost saw 

The pearly gates of Heaven. 



FALSE. 



I met him yesterday, down by the sea, 

Stood for a moment with his hand on mine ; 

Heard once again his soft voice speak to me, 

And the hot blood fired up my cheeks like wine,— 

In memory I went back to that sweet time 
When life was all divine ! 

Once, when I met him, through his deep, dark eyes 
Shone out the brilliance of a tender glow, — 

Lighting his face as sunset lights the skies 
When its encrimsoned glories ebb and flow! 

Last night his eyes were steel, so hard and dense, 
His smile was frozen snow. 

We dwell apart, — our paths are severed wide ; 
We hold no more those precious twilight talks, 



FALSE. 87 

When in love's perfectness, close, side by side, 

We wandered down the labyrinthine walks 
Of those old woods, where now the lonesome wind 
In gloomy grandeur stalks. 

Once, I loved moonlight ; loved those still Fall nights, 
When radiant amber filled the atmosphere, — 

When the arched sky burned red with Northern Lights, 
And earth seemed listening with a half-fledged fear. 

I loved all things because I worshiped him, 
And he was ever near. 

Now, I shut out all pleasant sights, and close, 

With firm cold hands, my curtains 'gainst the stars; 

And bar my windows, lest my stern repose 

Be stirred by sound of love-songs and guitars; — 

Would that I had the power to close my heart 
With treble bolts and bars ! 

I know him false ! I scorn him ! so I say ; 

I would not look upon his face again ! 
With me all love and trust have had their day, 

I've done with sweet young faith and hope ; but then, 
He whom a woman once has loved can never be, 
To her, like other men. 



88 FROM NATURE UNTO GOD. 



FROM NATURE UNTO GOD. 

The wind that sweeps the fragrant waste 

Of billowy clover seas, 
And breathes its mystic music through 

The greenery of the trees ; 
The summer sun that drops its gold 

On hill and plain and sea, 
The cooling shadows as they pass 

So still and noiselessly, — 
All these familiar sights and sounds 

Are beautiful to me. 

The far blue hills that in the haze 

Of distance fade away, 
The fleecy white clouds, mountain-born, 

That love at home to stay ; 
The stretch of mellow purple sky 

Arching in peace o'er all, — 
Building between the earth and heaven 

A thin dividing wall, — 
So thin that God can hear our prayers 

And answer when we call : 

All these delightful things I love, 

Of earth, and sky, and air ; 
They fill my soul with images 

Of light divinely fair ! 



SOMETHING LOST. 89 

If such is earth beneath the curse 

Of lust, and pride, and sin, 
Earth where the threatening power of death 

Throughout all time has been, — 
What must be heaven, where naught of this 

Can ever enter in ? 

In all these gracious works I see 

God's mercy and His care ; 
The world holds no place so remote 

His love cannot reach there. 
I cannot stray so far away 

Prayer will not find His ear ; 
In every place I know and feel 

His strengthening Presence near; 
And if He loves and cares for me, 

What cause have I for fear? 



SOMETHING LOST. 

What is it that I miss these long drear nights, 

When the bleak winds against my casement blow, 
And o'er the grim, gaunt outline of the heights 

Comes down the ghostly mistiness of snow? 
I do not dread the wind ; I'm sheltered warm ; 

Before me roars the fire, the lamp burns clear ; 
What is there in this cruel winter storm 

To mind me of that sweet, long- vanished year? 
When life was young, and all the world 
Was dear ? 



9° 



AFTER THE RAIN. 



Backward in thought I go; the windows shriek, 

And down the chimney roars the frenzied blast ! 
I hold my breath, — is it a dead voice speaks 

From out the sacred silence of the Past? 
The gate swings back and forth, I hear it grate, 

Its iron hinges hoarse with age and rust ; 
How often there I've paused, to watch, and wait, 

The sound of feet that lie within the dust ! 
So long ago, when I took all things bright 
In trust ! 

The mad winds bellow like the ocean waves, 

Through the great elm-trees just across the street : 
Why does the sound bring to me thoughts of graves 

On bleak, bare moorlands, where the cold storms 
beat ? 
I lift the curtains, and peer through the gloom, — 

A grim, gray waste of country, — nothing more ! 
My soul is prisoned in this mortal tomb, 

It chafes and frets like waves on a lee shore ! 
Why is it that our yearnings reach so strong for what 
Comes nevermore ? 



AFTER THE RAIN. 

The sable clouds break into light, 
To let the sunshine through; 

Above the ridge of western hills 
There is a belt of blue, 



AFTER THE RAIN. gl 



And through the fleecy veil of mist 
The sun bursts into view. 

The wide fields stretch toward the sea, 
Fragrant with clover scent; 

The lilacs and the appleblooms 
In one sweet mass are blent, 

And in the east a bow of Hope 
Climbs toward the firmament. 

The brooks leap down the rocky steeps, 
White as the winter snow, — 

Their dreamy voices singing us 
Airs of the long ago ; 

And blood-red on the garden wall 
The damask roses glow. 

Upon the elm-tree by the well, 
The robin calls his mate, — 

Who with her swelling amber breast 
Coquettes upon the gate : 

Poor little robin ! he, like us, 
Must be content to wait. 

Below the meadows in the grove, 

The sweetly subtle still 
Is broken by the plaintive voice 

Of a lone whip-poor-will ; 
And harshly sounds from up the stream 

The whistle of the mill. 

The air is soft, and bland, and moist, 
Coming from some south shore, — 



9 2 NEARER. 

It scatters diamonds from the trees, 
Such as queens never wore ; 

And stealing softly comes the night !- 
Night ! and the rain is o'er. 



NEARER. 



One sweet and precious thought 

Comes to me every night, 
When dying day flushes the west 

With blood-red gleams of light ; 
I'm nearer to the perfect life, 

Nearer the great To-Be, — 
Nearer the night when peace shall come ! 

Nearer, my love, to thee ! 

The winter's cruel cold 

Sweeps o'er thy graveyard bed ; 
The white snow hovers tenderly 

O'er thy unconscious head ; 
But peace and calm drop on my heart 

With each declining sun, 
For then, I think, 'twill not be long 

Before we shall be one. 

Through toil of hand and brain, 

And heaviness of heart, — 
Through all these long-drawn years 

Since we have been apart, — 



MOONRISE. 93 



At each pale twilight's fall 
Along the woodlands dim, 

Some spirit-voice has whispered me, 
"A day's length nearer him !" 

Oh, Loved ! and Lost ! I wait, 

And dream of the To-Come ! 
In faith I'm trusting Death to bring 

Me to my one dear home. 
And in the golden glow 

Upon that summer shore, 
We shall clasp hands, to live and love 

Through all Forevermore. 



.MOONRISE. 

A halo crowns the purple hills, 

The heaven in slumberous light distils, 

Nature is still, a holy calm 

On pulseless wings drops down its balm. 

On azure seas cloud-vessels sail, 
Their white wings flushed with roses pale ; 
And on the star-gemmed eastern heights 
The night her bridal taper lights. 

The whip-poor-will in ancient trees 
Chants low his sacred melodies, 
And from the swell of green uplands 
The west wind utters its commands. 



94 



IN RUIN. 

The lake's soft breast of waveless glass 
Is kissed by shadows as they pass ; 
The great hills lift their regal brows, 
Like priests at vespers making vows. 

The Orient bright and brighter burns, 
The primrose tint to crimson turns ; 
A flash of silver, touched with gold, 
Leaps up the sky-steeps, fold on fold. 

And, lo ! in state, like throned queen, 
Through sable distance swims serene 
The royal moon, while in their cars 
Of gold ride on the glittering stars. 



IN RUIN. 



It stands there on the green hillside, 
Covered with roses like a bride ; 
And round its chimneys tall elm-trees 
Whisper their vows, and shake their leaves, 
A low brown house, with windows tall, 
And gables where quaint shadows fall. 

The lily blooms, and mottled pinks 
Crowd round the ruined fountain's brinks, 
Kissing decay with crimson lips, — 
Putting the gloom in gay eclipse ; 
But no fair hands of happy girls 
Gather the flowers to deck their curls. 



A MEMORY OF WINTER. 

I cross the sill, and sit me down 
Upon the doorstep bare and brown ; 
I call aloud, — a gentle word, — 
Name of a sweet-voiced singing-bird : 
Where dwells she now? What regions hold 
Her, with her hair of living gold? 

I call, and listen ; empty sounds, 
From empty halls and empty grounds, 
Grate on the air, and fright the ears 
Like tones the pale death-watcher hears, 
And the red robin, with a cry, 
Flies startled up against the sky. 

Three tombstones out 'neath yonder tree, — 
One coral grave deep in the sea, — 
A nameless mound in Indian lands ! 
Oh, sleep of heart ! oh, rest of hands ! 
Oh, winter's rest, where Death is king, 
Waiting the resurrection Spring ! 



95 



A MEMORY OF WINTER. 

All day, in flakes of saintly white, 
The snow fell down ; 

Wrapping in ermine folds the height 
Above the town ; 

Hanging each patient hemlock-tree 
With bridal veils ; 



9 5 A MEMORY OF WINTER. 

Changing the forest to a sea 

Flecked with white sails. 

Over each savage, black-browed rock, 

Climb crystal flowers, — 
Wild lily-cup, and holly-hock, 

From winter's bowers; 
And on the hillside, by the spring, 

Rise pillared fanes, 
Gorgeous enough for reigning king 

And all his thanes. 

A silence steals upon the earth ; 

The snow-mists flee ; 
The winds wake unto stronger birth 

Their minstrelsy ; 
Their organ bass on high they shriek 

Through the cold sky, 
Rending the dismal silence bleak 

With their wild cry. 

Forth from their prisons peep the stars, 

Like frightened girls 
When battle-smoke round brave hussars 

Its red fog curls ; 
And wildly on the sky's broad plain 

The cloud-forms reel, 
Like men when cannon's deadly rain 

Breaks coats of steel. 

Eastward the troop of gloom-black clouds 
Take up their march j 



A MEMORY OF WINTER. 

Seeming like dismal funeral shrouds 

On heaven's arch ; 
Building above the shuddering world 

A cenotaph, 
Writing on scroll of blue unfurled 

God's autograph. 

Cold, cold the icy wind comes down 

From Northern moors, 
Frightening the stray birds feathered brown, - 

Hark ! how it roars ! 
Tumbling the restless, feathery snow 

To swelling hills ; 
Filling the air with frosty glow 

And frozen chills. 

The moonlight silent as the dead, 

And ghostly white, 
Sinks down through weird and frosty void, 

Down, in the night, 
Dropping upon the river's breast 

A mail of pearl, 
On each still wave a diamond crest 

Fit for an earl. 

The mountain cliffs crash wide apart, 

With deafening sound ; 
And up the answering echoes start 

From all around ; 
The fierce winds with their bellowings strive, 

Making high boasts, 
Until the whole earth seems alive 

With noisy ghosts. 



97 



9 8 TWO SEASONS OF LIFE. 

The regal Night tramps grandly on, 

The still stars flame ; 
And high in heaven the cold, calm moon 

Shines on, the same ; 
Pallid and white the great earth lies, — 

A conquered thing, — 
Submissive to the stern decrees 

Of Winter-King. 



TWO SEASONS OF LIFE. 

We were children together, he and I : 
Oh, beautiful morning ! oh, rare, sweet sky ! 
We roamed together through wood and field, 
We drank the honey the wild bees yield ; 
We crushed the buttercup under our tread, 
And its gold dust gilded the daisy's bed ; 
We sat through sunsets rich and rare, 
With our faces lifted, our brown heads bare, 
To catch the glory that rippled down 
Over the meadow, and river, and town. 

We watched the Tuscany roses bloom ; 

We breathed the hyacinth's faint perfume ; 

We trampled the clover so lush and sweet, 

To find where the strawberries hid from the heat ; 

And up on the swell of the breezy hills, 

We sat through the subtle twilight stills ; 



TWO SEASONS OF LIFE. 99 

And the night-bird sang in the lonesome swamp, 
And the full moon lit her blood-red lamp, 
And the purple flush of the dear dead day 
Faded out of the west, and left it gray. 



When the stars came out in the hazy sky, 

And the katydid's voice rose clear and high, 

And the cricket chirped in the hawthorn hedge, 

And the musical river ran o'er the sedge, 

And the mist rose white as the winter snow, 

And the elms in the breeze swayed to and fro, 

We sat together, and hand in hand 

We traveled in fancy all dreamland ; 

Laid gorgeous plans for the coming time, 

When the world would be perfect, and life sublime. 

We said we would cross the Eastern seas, 
Smell India's spices and Araby's breeze ; 
Talk love together beneath the palms, 
Hear Italy's daughters sing vesper psalms; 
See sunsets fade from Alpine heights, 
From dismal Norway see Northern Lights ; 
Climb sacred Sinai, and there, in awe, 
Behold the land which the prophet saw, 
And by Jerusalem's ruined towers 
Deplore the wreck of her golden hours. 

Oh, 'twas delicious ! the rich plantain grew, 
And the creamy bananas were wet with the dew j 
The amber oriole flashed through the flowers, 
And the bulbul sang in the orange bovvers, 



100 ONE OF LIFE'S MISTAKES. 

And beneath the silver light of the stars 

We heard the tinkle of soft guitars ; 

Oh, the royal midnights ! the calm, sweet days ! 

Oh, the languorous noons and the twilight haze ! 

And the waves rippled lightly of that south sea, 

And life was an Eden to him and to me ! 

Ah ! it is over ! this world is so cold ! 

The sunsets are sable ! I miss the red gold ! 

The airs that sweep o'er me are chilly and damp, 

The winds o'er the dead leaves relentlessly tramp ! 

The universe holds, for me, only a grave, 

Where the pale lilies bloom, and the green willows 

wave ! 
I care not for southlands, or orange, or palm, 
I am heedless of Italy's breezes of balm ; 
For me all the light of this earth is so dim ! 
Heaven would not be Heaven if absent from him. 



ONE OF LIFE'S MISTAKES. 

I take the truth home to my heart, and stand 
Helpless, like one the tide bears from the land, 
The happy land, where dwell his household band. 

Self-blinded I have been ; no cruel blame 
Shall fall on her who nobly bears my name ; 
No thought of mine shall stain her spotless fame. 



ONE OF LIFE'S MISTAKES. 101 

The bright-eyed stars in summer nights that shine, 
The purple grape before 'tis changed to wine,— 
No purer are than this pure wife of mine. 

She charmed me like some painting rare and old, 
My soul twined round her, sinuous fold on fold ; 
But I was proud and kept my love untold. 

I tried to stifle what I felt, and said 

I'd starve my passion till its roots were dead,— 

For I was poor, and she was nobly bred. 

But love is strong, and like the mighty sea, 

Which dashes helpless vessels on the lee, 

It burst the bounds I set, and conquered me. 

I took her hand in mine one summer day,— 
She met my look, and did not turn away : 
Her blue eye's sadness haunts me still alway. 

Had she but told me she had loved before,— 
That through some sad mistake the dream was o'er, 
And that her heart was dead for evermore ! 

I fondly thought no other lips had pressed 
The red of hers ; I thought her quiet breast 
Had never held another head to rest. 

I smoothed her dainty fingers white as snow, 
And watched her face to see her pale cheek glow, 
And thought no other man had touched her so. 
10 



102 ONE OF LIFE'S MISTAKES. 

Oh, those were days stolen from Heaven's delights ! 
I walked on flowers, and trod enchanted heights, 
Whose airs were balm, whose walls were chrysolites. 

She smiles upon me now, and keeps away 
From him, because she minds her vows alway ; 
And unto me she gave herself for aye. 

He came among us, handsome, frank, and free ; 
His manly beauty strangely won on me, — 
Ah ! had I seen th' inevitable To-Be ! 

I saw them when they met. She grew as white 
As graveyard marble, in the cold moonlight, 
That through the oriel window fell so bright. 

He touched her fingers ; bowed his stately head ; 
I saw his swart cheek flush with burning red, 
And she — the royal woman I had wed — 

She turned from him with fine, exquisite scorn, 
E'en while her brow glowed like the brow of morn; 
And I stole out, and wished myself unborn ! 

He flirts and trifles with the gay young girls, — 
Admires their eyes, and twines their pretty curls, 
And tells them that their teeth are like white pearls. 

But when he meets her, all the nobler sense 
Of his starved soul flames up in power intense ! 
Well, who knows what may be a century hence ? 



PRAYER. I03 

They both are noble. Both remember me ; 
And go their separate ways all silently, 
Hiding the lack that ne'er will cease to be. 

Their story is a simple one to tell, — 

What is more simple than a funeral knell ? 

They loved each other, and they both loved well. 

She thought him false ; her purse-proud friends helped on 
The sad delusion ; gold his love had won ; 
And she was proud, and faith was all undone ! 

Well, I shall live my life out by her side ; 
Feeling, with all my bitter grief, some pride 
That she will fall not, though she be sore tried. 



PRAYER. 



The rosy day is fading out 

Along the western sky; 
And through the mellow summer air 

The white cloud-vessels fly ; 
A breath of odor faint and sweet 

Comes from the meadow's breast, 
And all the earth, and heaven, lie 

Serene in quiet rest. 

The universe sleeps tranquilly 
Beneath the eye of God ; 



io4 



PR A YER. 

And weary feet are resting now 
Which devious ways have trod ; 

Shall lack of faith, and lack of hope, 
Disturb and tear my breast ? 

Shall doubt of Heaven's mercy fill me 
With a vague unrest ? 

Perplexed and dark my spirit is, 

I cannot see the way ; 
And grim night flings its banners out 

Across the brow of day ; 
But though the distant heights are hid 

In veils of chilly mist, 
I'll not despair, — the vapors flee 

When by the sunbeams kissed. 

Heaven seems a long, long distance off, 

Shut in by brazen bars ; 
Forbidding in their pale, pure light 

Twinkle the gleaming stars. 
Failing to call a blessing down, 

I'll climb the winding stair, 
And reach the City of our God, 

Borne by the breath of prayer. 



AWAKENED. ^5 



AWAKENED. 



V 



There is a new-born glory in the skies ! 

The sunsets never showed such radiant dyes, 

The stars ne'er shone with such bewildering eyes ! 

All things created are to beauty given, 

And earth has borrowed the delights of heaven ! 

The birds and streams sing more melodious airs, 
The wild old forest a new splendor wears : 
All that I view with love my heart ensnares ! 
When the whole soul its full love-wealth is giving, 
There is an ecstasy in simply living ! 

The atmosphere is full of rare, sweet stills, 
A mystic something all the broad space fills ; 
The winds that touch me sweep the Eternal Hills ; 
And through the crimson clouds of mist that rise 
I almost catch a glimpse of Paradise ! 

A life like this were fullest perfectness ! 
Heaven, to be heaven, must own no glory less, 
Else would it lack in royal blessedness; 
And even there, amid the waste of flowers, 
Our longing hearts might turn to these charmed hours ! 
10* 



106 A CHANGE OF OPINION. 

Beloved ! it is a gracious thing to know 
Thyself beloved ! and more than all below 
That love should cherished be ; but all, not so ! 
For a true woman, loving while she lives, 
Loves not the love she takes, but that she gives ! 



A C 11 A NT. E OF OPINION. 

MOTHER. 

BESSIE, 'tis time the brindled cow was milked ! 

The shadows of the hill 
Are falling down so fast they hide away 

The roof of Walton's mill, — 
Go, Bessie, ere the gloom of weeping night 

('onus with its wings of ill. 

DAUGHTER. 

But, mother dear, Will Kendall said, yestreen, 

To-day they'd reap the grain, 
And he'd come over at the set of sun 

To help me glean the plain. 
Please, mother, can't the brindle heifer wait 

Till I come back again ? 

MOTHER. 
No, Bessie, I'll not have you tramping out 

With Will, this chilly night! 
Why, child, the very air bears on its wings 

A dreadful fever blight ! 



A CHANGE OF OPINION. 

Go to your milking, Bess, while yet the stains 
Of sunset on the sky are bright ! 

DAUGHTER. 

Well, mother, sure I know dear Will will think 

I'm fickle and untrue ! 
And a great shade of sadness will come o'er 

His eye so calm and blue ; 
And he will think that I have played him false, - 

Not dreaming it was you ! 

MOTHER. 

Bessie, 'tis nonsense loving this young Will ! 

He's plain, and proud, and poor ! 
If 'twere not for the gossip of the dames, 

I'd drive him from my door; 
And I forbid you e'er to see his face, 

Or listen to his silly love-words more ! 

DAUGHTER. 

But, mother, Willie's Aunt Jerome is dead, — 

Died but a week ago, — 
And left ten thousand pounds of gold to Will ! 

Last night he told me so ; 
And he's to be a gentleman, and dwell 

Where servants at his bidding come and go ! 

t 

MOTHER. 

Ha ! Ann Jerome is dead ? Hess, say you so? 
And left her wealth to Will ? 



107 



io 8 NEVER AGAIN. 

Well, child, you needn't mind about that cow, 

She'll feed upon the hill; 
And put the ribbons in your curls, my love, 

And go and meet young Will. 



NEVER AGAIN. 

I look abroad upon the calm, fair land, 

Where Autumn's breath has dropped a wreath of 
snow, 
And where the pine-trees, mute with waiting, stand 

To strike their harp-notes when the wind shall blow. 
Night drops her grand old silence slowly down, 

The lines of air and ocean blend in one; 
The gleaming steeples of the distant town 

Are lost in mists of twilight soft and dun. 
Oh, shall rare joys, and thoughts, and tones, and thrills, 
Come to me in this hour of mystic stills, 
Never again ? 

Oh, I remember in the Long Ago 

Such nights as this, — sweet almost unto pain ! 
When all the world was haloed with a glow, , 

And full content descended like a rain ! 
The quiet night passed in a mazy dream 

Of golden glows and flowers of brilliant dyes ! 



THE OLD STORY. 109 

I floated down an amber-bosomed stream, 

And gazed on summer skies with half-closed eyes ! 
Now, the soft veil of love and youth is rent : 
When will my life be filled with still content ? 
Never again ! 



THE OLD STORY. 

The hills were purple in the twilight haze, 

Eastward the full moon showed her silver rim, 

And whitely o'er the chain of rock-bound bays 
The damp cool sea-fog on the breeze sailed in. 

They stood together by the garden-gate, 

Lengthening the sweet sad moments as they might ; 

The west sky lost its crimson, and, like Fate, 
Upon their heads fell down the autumn night. 

He held her hand, and all his ardent face 
Grew radiant at the touch so subtly sweet ! 

This old, old earth for him wore fresh new grace, 
And turned to love, and joy, beneath his feet ! 

He said his love was like the eternal hills, 
Steadfast, unchanging, as their line of blue ! 

And in the quiet of the evening stills 
He gave his solemn promise to be true ! 



no THE OLD STORY. 

She trusted him ! Women were made to trust ! 

It is their instinct ! Strange they never think 
That idols crumble oft to veriest dust, 

And joy's full cups break on the fountain's brink ! 

To-night, this winter night of frost and snow, 
She sits alone, sad-eyed, with silver hair ! 

Her cheek has lost its roundness and its glow, 
And all her features are deep-lined with care. 

And he? Within a crowded city's mart 
He has a home of splendor grand and cold. 

A black-haired woman reigns in pride within, — 
Her hair was like the sunshine's rippling gold. 

Well, life is life, and very brief at best ; 

We do not live, and leave grief's ways untrod ! 
Happy, if when we go to find our rest, 

Our sorrows have not made us false to God ! 



IN TIME OF WAR 



THE SENTINEL. 

Soldier, upon the bastioned wall, 

Treading thy solemn, measured beat, 
The sky of midnight o'er thy head, 

The broad Atlantic at thy feet. 
Tell me thy thoughts, as pacing on 

Through tropic heat, and moonless air, 
The slow night passes, and the morn 

Breaks up the east with lurid glare. 

The faint breath of the languid South, 

So sweet it must have wandered through 
The orange-groves of Indian lands, 

Or white magnolias wet with dew, 
Falls on thy brow with gentle touch, 

A soft, insidious, 'wildering breath, 
Holding in its voluptuous sweets, 

Perchance, the hidden pangs of death. 

Tell me thy thoughts, stern sentinel ! 

Are they of yester morning's strife? 
When 'mid the roar of shot and shell, 

And 'mid the shriek of parting life, 
Thy bright steel gleamed in yonder trench, 

As, leaping on a prostrate gun, 
Thy voice sent forth the rallying shout,— 

" Huzza ! huzza ! the day is won !" 

II ( M3) 



H4 



THE SENTINEL. 

Art thinking of the coming morn, 

When blood-red shall the banners glow, 
And on the tented field without 

The deadly columns storm the foe ? 
When 'mid the smoke, and clang of steel, 

And 'mid the strife of carnage dire, 
Thy stalwart form shall lead the van, 

And meet the death-hot, murderous fire? 

Is 't fear that blanches thy stern brow? 

Fear ! should a soldier know the word? 
Come life or death, what matters it 

When the war-trump his blood has stirred? 
Speak, soldier ! ah, thy cheek is flushed, — 

A tender gleam, like yon soft star, 
Lights up thine eye as it is turned 

Toward the Northern sky afar. 

He answers not. Wherefore's the need? 

He thinks not of the battle's din, 
Nor of the gloomy, bristling walls 

That shut the grim old fortress in : 
He knows whose orchard-trees are white 

With wildest wealth of rosy snow \ 
He knows the red-lipped May has kissed 

The clover-blossoms into glow. 

He sees the low, brown cottage-house, 
Half hidden 'neath the sheltering trees, 

That gray and mossy lift with pride 
The peerless growth of centuries ; 



TOO OLD. 

His eyes are moist, — 'tis not the mist 
That rises from the wave-washed shore ; 

'Tis a grand weakness, yielded to 
For those he may see never more ! 

Soldier ! it is a thrilling sight 

To see the brave man when he weeps 
At thought of those whose memories 

Fore'er within his heart he keeps ! 
God bless thee, sentinel, to-night, 

While on thy lonesome, watchful beat, — 
The sky of midnight o'er thy head, 

The broad Atlantic at thy feet ! 



TOO OLD. 



He stands before the cottage door, 

An aged man, and gray ; 

He hears the neap-tide beat the shore, 

And the laughter, on the distant moor, 

Of children at their play. 

His dim eyes wander off afar, 

Beyond the broken lines 
Of the rocks that bound the harbor bar, 
Of the skies that hold the evening star, — 
Beyond the wood of pines. 

He looks on sunny southern hills, 

Beyond the clouds of gold, — 



n6 TOO OLD. 

He gives no heed to the wild bird's trills, 
Or the faint perfume of the daffodils 
In the garden grand and old. 

His weird eyes see the snow-white camp 

Pitched on the river bank ; 
He hears the sentry's steady tramp, 
And the iron hoofs of the war-horse clamp, — 
The spur in his bloody flank. 

He sees the old flag's red and white, 

With field of starry blue, 
Float proudly through the purple light, 
Above the smoke of the deadly fight, 

And the soft turfs crimson dew. 

He hears the crash of shot and shell 

And sees the flash of the guns, — 
He hears the fifes like a funeral knell, 
And the bugle-notes like a silver bell, 
And the glorious roll of drums ! 

" Oh God !" he cries, " for youth again ! 

For manly strength once more ! 
I'd strive to the death with might and main ; 
I would not shrink at mortal pain, 

Or pale at the battle's roar ! 

" My hair is white with age, I know, 

But if they'd let me stand 
With our brave recruits, before the foe, 
Where hot shot falls like winter snow, — 
W T ith the flag-staff in my hand, — 



ONE AWAY. 

" I would not flinch, though all the air 

Were red with death and flame, — 
Though cannon-breaths were in my hair, 
And death was busy, — all things I'd dare 
For country and her fame !" 

The soft night falls, — he breathes a sigh, 

He knows his dreams are vain ! 
But he yearns for the distant battle-sky, 
And his old blood stirs to the battle-cry, 
And his heart is young again ! 



ii7 



ONE AWAY. 

The wild winds whistle down the hills' dark gorge ; 

The leaden air is full of hail and snow; 
And, tossed and harassed by the reckless wind, 

The drifts to frigid, white-capt mountains grow. 

The cold is brutal : ice reigns everywhere ; 

The prisoned streamlet groans in sullen pain ; 
The mighty river, flowing to the sea, 

Struggles in impotence to break its chain. 

It is a night when, thankful unto God 

For home and love, we gather round the hearth ; 
When we would draw in those we care for most 

To our embrace, from all the wide, cold earth. 



n8 ONE AWAY. 

I shudder, though the grate is crimson red 
And all around me is the ruddy light; 

My thoughts go out to wander after one, — 
To wonder where he is this boisterous night ! 

Sleeps he beside the camp-fire's dying glare, 
Dreaming of home and friends so far away? 

Or pacing on the lonesome picket-guard, 
With weary waiting for the break of day ? 

The tents gleam whitely through the torpid night ; 

The earthworks, sharp defined, rise up below ; 
And, through the murky gloom that lies between, 

He sees the distant watch-fires of the foe. 

His dark eye kindles, — flushes hot his cheek: 
Maybe the morrow's sun will shine on strife ! 

The smoky sky hang over men who meet 

To yield up blood for blood, and life for life ! 

Oh, Heaven ! the winds shriek on like fiends at war ! 

My heart shrinks cold and shudd'ring in my breast ; 
The thought of him upon that deadly field 

Breaks ruthlessly through all my hours of rest ! 

I find no peace, nor comfort ! Heaven, be kind ! 

This mortal dread of fate, so stern and grim, 
Is terrible ! my dreams are full of it ! 

My life is one long prayer to God for him ! 



AFTER THE BATTLE. 



119 



AFTER THE BATTLE. 

Night settles on the mountain 

That flamed an hour ago 
With all the grand insignia 

Of sunset's fiery glow ; 
And through the purple heavens, 

High in the amethyst, 
The solemn stars are gleaming white 

Through the enshrouding mist. 

For us, they look on quiet; 

On peaceful, happy homes ; 
We hear no roar of cannon, 

No crash of warlike drums ; 
We see no battle-banners, 

Bloody, and stained, and rent ; 
For us, no smoke of carnage 

Clouds the blue firmament. 

O stars, and sweet moon, hanging 

Up in the breathless height ! 
What scenes of desolation 

Ye look upon, to-night ! 
On green fields blushing crimson ; 

On bright swords wet with gore, 
Dropped from strong hands which grasped them. 

But ne'er will grasp them more ! 



20 AFTER THE BATTLE. 

The night is gathering slowly ; 

Some faces lie so calm, 
You think the dead ears listen 

To the eternal psalm ! — 
Lie blankly gazing upward, 

Unheedful night has come, 
The time the soldier folds his arms 

And dreams of friends and home. 

They lie there all together, 

Rebel, and Union true ; 
Close, side by side, the uniforms 

Of gray, and Federal blue; 
White-haired and bearded veterans, 

Youths with their locks of gold, 
Whose pale, unchanging faces, 

Now, never will grow old ! 

The living claim our weeping ; 

The dead, why sorrow o'er? 
They have passed unto God, and He 

Cares for them evermore ; 
They've crossed the mystic river 

And reached the shadowy lands, — 
We follow them no further, — 

We leave them in His hands. 

O God ! our hearts cry daily 
For all this strife to cease ! 

Give us the signal victory, 
And give us lasting peace ! 



IN TIME OF WAR. 121 

Remove all strife and bitterness 

From our loved land afar, 
And let the time come speedily 

When there shall be no war ! 



IN TIME OF WAR. 

There is a sadness in the autumn air, 

Something, beside the yellow leaf and sere, 

Reminds us of the hopes the young spring brought, 
Sweet hopes that perish with the waning year ; 

And over all the land a sigh of pain 

Shudders along the mellow atmosphere. 

The great heart of the nation, stirred from peace, 
Torn from the quiet languor of its rest, 

Breaks lavishly its wealth of crimson life 

On Southern fields, and prairies of the West ! 

Oh, what shall be our final recompense 

For all this carnage of our brave and best ? 

A Country and a Name ! we stand for that ! 

Convinced, though suffering, it is better far 
To weep for all we love and cherish most, 

Than to give up a single glorious star ! 
And let the right hand perish that would dare 

The blue field of our banner thus to mar ! 

We count the cost. We know the stricken hearts ! 
God pity them ! and make them strong to bear ! 



I2 2 LITTLE GRAY BESS. 

And from the waste wild lands of sea-girt Maine, 
Unto the Golden Shore of promise fair, 

Unite as one, once more, these severed States ; 
And let the cry of Union fill the air ! 



LITTLE GRAY BESS. 

She climbs to the window-ledge by my side, — 

Little gray Bess, — and she touches my face 
With her little wet nose that will not be denied, 

And she tosses her head with infinite grace; 
Poor little kitten ! poor little pet ! 

We have lived on through the sorrow and gloom, — 
Ah, little kitten ! if we could forget 

To recall that June night with its low-hanging moon ! 
That long-agone night, when the sea-billows broke 

Up the sharp shore with a querulous croon ! 

George was the last one ; — all of them slept 

Low in the valley, beside the sad sea ; 
When I buried my dead, I joyed, while I wept, 

That God had been kind and left one to me ! 
When the war-cloud o'er Sumter's walls broke, 

He hurried to me with fire in his eye, 
My boy's gentle heart to mankind awoke ! 

" Mother," he said, " who will falter? Not I ! 
The black name of coward I loathe with proud scorn ! 

I, too, judge it sweet for my country to die !" 

Though my heart trembled, my voice did not quake ! 
Ah, how the wind whistles across the lone moor ! 



LITTLE GRAY BESS. 123 

And the leaves of the sycamore quiver and shake, 

And the sea-gulls are flying in thick to the shore ! 
I told him God speed, and I buckled his sword, 

And enjoined him to ever be loyal and true, 
To yield up his life ere the flag he saw lowered, 

And trailed in the dust its red, white, and blue ! 
And I bade him remember this work was the best 

That God and his country had called him to do ! 

When he departed, he patted your head, 

Little gray Bess; and I'll never forget 
The voice of my boy, as he halted, and said, 

" Mother, be kind to my poor little pet." 
Ah, little kitten ! you listen in vain ! 

Listening, and waiting, and watching, are o'er ! 
Wail, pitiless wind ! fall, pitiless rain ! 

And beat, wild sea-billows, upon the sharp shore ! 
Let me shut tight the window, little gray Bess: 

He will come in through the wicket no more ! 

Oh, I remember the fate-burdened day 

When they brought me a letter unsullied and white, 
Writ in a strange hand,— endorsed " No Delay !" 

When I touched it, how swiftly the day changed to 
night 1 
Only a line,— but the letters glowed red 

As with blood, — no more and no less : 
" Shot through the heart !" Oh, my brave, noble dead ! 

But we miss him so sorely, little gray Bess ! 
And it's lonely and sad, for the nights are so long, 

And but you and I left in the house, little Bess ! 



I2 4 



CONSECRATION. 



CONSECRATION. 

Love is the life of a woman ; her chiefest of blessings ; 
her all ! 
Lacking its sweets, her existence of full perfection is 
shorn ; 
Love, the wonderful alchemist, changes to honey life's 
gall,- 
Transforms the sad gloom of midnight into the gold 
blush of morn ! 

What shall requite her for Love's loss? oh, what shall 
suffice her instead ? 
What shall comfort and quiet her when loveless and 
desolate ? 
What shall recall her to life again when her heart's 
fibres are dead ? 
Oh, it is fearful to live with nothing for which you 
can wait ! 

Country? Yes, country is dear to me ! from its bland 
airs I draw breath. 
Prosper it, God of our fathers ! now in its bitterest 
need ! 
Sustain it ! save it from tottering down to dishonorable 
death ! 
Uphold it ! restore it, unbroken ! oh, give us heed ! 



CONSE CRA TION. T 2 , 

I am weak ; I confess it, — courage will fail me, — must 
I yield up 
All that I own of earth's glory,— all that I hold dear, 
and prize? 
Heaven's beneficent gift to me,— my soul's blest anchor 
of hope ? 
Smile as I offer it,— clothed, crowned, for the fell 
sacrifice ? 

True, they soothe me with fair words; he will win 
honor, glory, and fame ; 
He will come back to me covered with victory's 
proud scars ; 
I shall blush red with my pride when the multitude 
shout forth his name ! 
My daring hero ! my valiant knight ! home returned 
from the wars ! 

Well, it may be so, but— if !— oh, that terrible, shud- 
dering doubt ! 
Creeping into my breast,— paralyzing to marble my 
heart ! 
No ! no ! it is useless ! impotent I to cast the in- 
truder out ! 
Cease urging,— ask it not of me ; we cannot exist 
apart ! 

Will Fame assuage death's anguish? will it make more 
enticing the grave? 
Will it dry up a tear, hush a sob, or tear from sorrow 
a pain ? 

12 



126 CONSE CRA HON. 

Will it make less chilly and dreadful the ice-cold touch 
of the wave 
That launches the fearsome mortal out on the unex- 
plored main ? 

I sleep, and my dreams they are troubled, — I hear the 
rolling of drums, 
The martial blast of the trumpet, the rush of ca- 
parisoned steeds ; 
I see the gray smoke of the conflict, the red hot fog 
of the guns, 
The crimson stains of the greensward, where many a 
true heart bleeds ! 

Aloft, like the gold gleam of sunlight, the banners flash 
on the air, 
Above the strife and the carnage where men to 
demons are turned ; 
I see the glitter of broadswords, — the horrible eye of 
despair ! 
Oh, God of Heaven ! that honors should be so ter- 
ribly earned ! 

1 walk o'er the dread plain at midnight, — my feet are 
wet with the gore ! 
I shudder at dead men's faces gazing blankly up to 
the sky, 
With eyes that see not the calm stars, with eyes that 
shall see nevermore ! 
Ah me ! it is dreadful! dreadful ! going to battle to 
die! 



CONSE CRA TION. T 2 7 

But some wives must bear it, some hearts suffer and 
break : 
Why shall not I doom my life to darkness as well? 
I shall not be alone ; 
I will be brave, I will conquer ! I will not give voice 
to a sigh ! 
Go forth ! and God keep thee ! thou only and 
idolized one ! 



I will kiss him my last, and my lips shall not quiver 
nor shrink ; 
I will chill not his ardor; his great heart, so loyal 
and true, 
Shall not beat one throb slower for me, shall not with 
heaviness sink 
For my grief, or my tears. I will show what a woman 
can do ! 

And if the worst comes, — if he falls, — so let it be ! 
Great grief is dumb ! 
Who shall proclaim my bereavement unto the people ? 
Not I! 
He will be lonesome with waiting, — I shall be speedy 
to come; 
There will be left to me this, — thank God ! blessed 
comfort — to die ! 



I2 8 UNDISMAYED. 



UNDISMAYED. 

Courage ! ye fainting hearts ! 

Though darkness rules to-day, 
Maybe the morrow's sun may chase 

The mist and gloom away. 
Though now War's clarion tongue 

Rings through the startled air, 
The voice of Peace shall yet proclaim 

Its victory everywhere ! 

Grim into every house 

Some fearful trouble comes ! 
Oh, God ! the lonesome hearts to-night, 

The desolated homes ! 
For us who stay behind, 

To watch, and pray, and wait, 
The lot is harder than for those 

Who go to seek their fate. 

But shall we fail, and sink, 

Beneath the weight of woe? 
We who have bid our dearest ones 

Gird on the sword and go ! 
No ! though we suffer loss, 

And weep our secret tears, 
We look beyond the present time, — 

Look to the coming years. 



A SOLDIER DEAD. 12g 

No grand great good can spring 

Through painless ease to birth ! 
The hand of chastening falls with weight 

Upon the cringing earth ! 
But midst it all, we know, 

Through darkness and through light, 
That God is strong enough to bring 

The victory to the Right ! 
October, 1862. 



A SOLDIER DEAD. 

He died amid the red hot smoke of battle, 

Died, with the flag, blood-purchased, in his hand ; 
Died, with his white lips shouting, "On to victory!" 

Cheering, and urging on his bold command. 
Beneath a Southern sky of softest azure, 

His grave-faced comrades laid him down to rest, 
While muffled drum-taps stirred the air of evening, 

And the great sun hung low within the west, — 
Laid him to sleep with the blood-reeking banner, 

So dearly won, shrouding his lifeless breast. 

What need of sculptured urn, or mausoleum, 
To tell his virtues, consecrate his name? 

He perished for his country ! death all-glorious ! 
The proudest fate that's given man by Fame ! 

A nation's tears are his, — a nation mourns him, — 
His monument shall outlast space and time ! 
12* 



I3 o A SOLDIER DEAD. 

He was a soldier; shared a soldier's fortune, 
And yielded up his life in manhood's prime ; 

Proud of the honor, — proud to be selected 
To die a death so royally sublime ! 

A fair New England home is drear without him, 

Bright eyes are sad with weight of unshed tears ; 
The memory of his lonely grave will darken 

The lives of kindred for these many years. 
But let them joy that for their noble country 

They had this dear one for a sacrifice ; 
He is not lost, — the eyes of a great nation 

Have marked the lone spot where his mortal lies ; — ■ 
For, though recorded not on history's tablets, 

It is an epoch when a brave man dies ! 

Yes, leave him there, — the wild and grand Atlantic 

Shall sing his dirges now and evermore ; 
Shall daily chant his requiem, as the surges 

Beat up the curvings of the sandy shore. 
The strife and tumults of his life are ended ; 

For him, the "Charge," "Advance," "Sortie," 
are done ; 
He'll face no more the hail of hostile cannon, 

The smoke of conflict darkens not his sun ! 
He's scaled the walls, and gained the heavenly bastions ; 

His peace is come; his bloodless victory's won. 



IN MOURNING, 



IN MOURNING. 

You say I must be calm, and try to bear 
This chastisement as a brave woman should, 

Content, nay, prideful, that I've yielded up 
The life of my life for my country's good. 

I must be calm, — well, stone is not more calm ! 

I do not wring my hands, or beat my breast ; 
My eyes are dry; I've not a tear to shed, — 

My fretful weeping might disturb his rest. 

Sighs come not from my lips ; feeling is dead ; 

Only a dull endurance reigns within, — 
Disturbed, at times, by longings wild and vague 

To cast off life, it is so cold and grim. 

An open grave lies ever at my feet, 

Whether I wake, or toss in restless sleep; 

I smell the damp fresh mould, and hear the spade 
Go crunching down, to make it dark and deep. 

I see him lying by its ghastly brink ; 

The crimson banner with its bars of white, 
Bought with his life, folding his quiet breast, 

And gleaming blood-red through the moonlit night. 

He looked his last upon the fair blue sky, 
Clouded with smoke of battle's lurid breath ; 



I 3 2 



DUST TO DUST. 



Heaved his last sigh where greedy cannon mouths 
Had drank all the sweet air, and left but death. 

No gentle hands to touch his clammy brow, 

No tender kisses on his silent lips, 
No voice of love to soothe his failing ear, 

No kiss to close his eyes in death's eclipse. 

Leave me alone ! words are of little worth 
That fall on deafened ears ! leave me alone ! 

Your comfortings mean well : tal$:e thanks, and go ! 
What use to waste your breath upon a stone ? 



DUST TO DUST. 

Silence all around us, 
Camp-fires burning low ; 

Stern and gaunt, the sentries 
On their slow beat go. 

Here in early twilight, 
Under sparkle of stars, 

We have gathered in silence, 
Men of battle and scars, 

Gathered to bury a comrade, 

Only a raw recruit ; 
Lying ghastly before us, 

Stirless, and pale, and mute. 



DUST TO DUST 133 

Grimy and brown his forehead, 

Matted his curling hair ; 
Lift the chestnut masses, — 

You'll see his death-wound there. 

Cover his broad breast lightly 

O'er with the faded blue ; 
Wrap the banner round him 

Damp with the reeking dew. 

Lay his rifle beside him, 

Hollow his bed in the sand, — 
Pile the loose soil above him 

With an unsparing hand. 

Read the burial-service, 

" Dust return unto dust," — 
Here in the dark we leave him ! 

God, we are needy of trust ! 

Leave him ! Night is advancing, 

The moon is white on the hill ; 
The cry of the open-eyed sentry 

Challenges hoarsely and shrill. • 

Silence, sadness, and quiet, — 

Only the sea's solemn moan 
Comes to our ears from the harbor, 

As we leave him alone. 



134 



WIDOWED AND CHILDLESS. 



WIDOWED AND CHILDLESS. 

They brought me the news last night, at moonrise ; 

I was sitting just here, where the silver fell in ; 
I remember I thought, as I looked at the skies, 

That the World seemed too pure for the entrance of 
sin. 

I laid down my head on the cool window-ledge, — 
Half happy, half sad with a trembling unrest ; 

I drank in the sweets of the white hawthorn hedge, 
And flushed in the air gushing soft from the west. 

A faint, hollow knock at the portico-door 
Jarred on my ear ; was it fancied or real ? 

Sadder sound than had ever alarmed me before, 
Or wakened from slumber my dreaming Ideal. 

I shuddered, — 'twas cold, — the night air was chill ; 

Frigid and icy, my heart stopped its beat. 
Omen ? oh, was it an omen of ill ? 

What grim, ghastly phantom my vision would greet? 

Slowly and solemn my visitant came, 

With irresolute lips and tear-brimming eye; 

Spoke to me pitifully, — called me by name 

In a broken voice choked by a shuddering sigh. 



WIDOWED AND CHILDLESS. 



135 



" There has been a great battle ! Many are slain !" 
" Tell me," I cried, " with whom victory rests?" 

" Our proud flag," he said, " floats high o'er the plain 
Where our brave soldiers lie with their swords on 
their breasts." 

"Thank God!" I cried out— " thank God for the 
Right!" 
"Madam," said he, "our true-hearted, brave men 
Went down unto death by scores in the fight, 

Went down in the fell cannonade!" — and what 
then ? 

" God rest them !" I said ; but a sharp sword of dread 
Pierced into my breast ; I felt chilly and numb ; 

" Speak the worst," said my eyes : "are they living, or 
dead?" 
But my cold lips were ice-flakes frozen and dumb. 

Could it be? can it be? no ! no ! no ! no ! 

God is too merciful, — God is too kind ! 
Both my brave sons, — my darlings ! laid low ! 

Heaven be pitiful ! I fall, — I am blind ! 

Is not that quite enough ! both of them slain ! 

Torn by the cruel shot, bruised by the shell ? 
Lying still, cold on the blood-crimsoned plain, 

Uniformed, armed, open-eyed, as they fell ! 

"Still another," said he. My husband? Great God ! 

" Killed by a shot from a bold grenadier !" 
Poured out his life on the red," reeking sod, 

While the tramp of mad chargers smote on his ear ! 



I3 6 COMING HOME. 

I am blasted, desolate, lightning- cursed, shorn ! 

Let me alone in your triumph, alone, — 
Why would you trouble the stricken, afflicted, forlorn? 

Leave me, and pass me ! I am feelingless stone! 

When your army comes back with flags streaming out, 
With rolling of drums, bugle-blasts, and huzzas, 

Flushed hot with your triumph, aloud ye will shout 
For the brave, and point to their badges of stars. 

Ay, look ! let the gleam dazzle ! cast not away 

A thought to the soldiers who toiled, bled, and died ! 

Let them rest ! they fought well through the smoke- 
darkened day ; 
And when you pass me, — look away, — turn aside ! 



COMING HOME. 

'* ELEVENTH NEW HAMPSHIRE." 

Oh, God be thanked that from the depth 

Of War's distressing night 
We see, across the Southern hills, 

At last, a gleam of light ! 
The spotless hand of Peace holds out 

The olive-branch and palm, 
And o'er this harassed land of ours 

There falls a spare of calm ; 



COMING HOME. 

Yes, God be thanked ! lift up the cry ! 
And, June winds, bear it flitting by, 
Laden with summer balm. 

From many a bloody field 

Behold, the heroes come ! 
We've doubted long ; but now we see 

Our soldiers coming home ! 
Worn, and unkempt, and rough, 

Scarred, and in coarse array, 
But bearing still the same true hearts 

They took with them away ! 
Oh, welcome them with heart and hand, 
The gallant, loyal, faithful band 
Who come to us to-day ! 

We miss some faces that we knew : 

Beneath the Southern grass 
They lie, with eyes that do not note 

The shadows as they pass ; 
With cold ears deaf to all the sound 

Of martial fife and drum 
Which thrills upon the summer air 

And calls their comrades home ! 
But heaven is just as near their rest, 
And God, who loves those brave ones best, 
Has spoke the sweet word, " Come ! 5 

Welcome to all the boys in blue ! 

They've earned the right to fame ! 
We speak of them, and own with pride 

There's something in a name ! 
J 3 



137 



I3 8 GLEAMS OF PEACE. 

God bless the feet that trampled down 
The banner of the bars, — 

And bless the hands that held aloft 
The glorious stripes and stars ! 

And let the brazen bells ring clear, 

And let the people, cheer on cheer, 
Welcome these men of scars ! 



GLEAMS OF PEACE. 

The June sky reaches down, pure, deeply blue ; 

The fields grow crimson in the clover glow ; 
A glimpse of heaven has almost broken through 

The screening veil, to cheer us as we go ; 
And God, who has frowned on us, smiles again, 

And turns to gladness all our weary woe. 

Four years of blood ! The way has been so sad ! 

The life-blood of our bravest and our best ! 
Many have yielded up all that they had 

To save their country ! loyal manifest ! 
Yielded them to the nobly deathless fame 

That shall forever mark our soldiers' rest ! 

To die for Country, Liberty, and Right ! 

A holy cause ! I almost envy those 
Who sleep in nameless graves, this summer night, 

A sacrifice unto our country's foes ! 



GLEAMS OF PEACE. T ^g 

No better death to die ! no grander fate 

To meet and conquer, all the wide world knows ! 

We look for day ! we think the night is o'er ! 

The south wind, sighing o'er the blooming hills, 
Speaks to us gently thoughts unsaid before, 

And in the solemn hush of twilight stills 
We catch Divine suggestions of the peace 

Which shall descend upon us when God wills. 

The war is ended ! Do we think, and speak, 

The words with all the grateful thrill they claim ? 

Have our hard lessons brought submission meek 
Unto His will, whom all the angels name 

With reverent voices, as we mention those 
Whom holy martyrdom consigned to fame ? 

We weep for those we loved and yielded up ; 

There are deep graves in many bosoms here, 
Sorrow's stern hand has pressed the bitter cup 

To many a lip; but God is always near 
To those who mourn ; and He will not forget 

To dry the weeping eye and anguished tear. 

At peace ! My soul thrills at the welcome sound ! 

At peace once more ! No battle-trump to blow ! 
No martial bugles o'er the hills resound — 

No tramp of armed men — no crimson flow 
Of life upon the hillsides' lush green grass ; 

At peace ! and o'er us summer's golden glow ! 

June, 1865. 



I4 o SPRING— 1866. 



SPRING. 
1866. 



The quiet earth greens at the touch of spring ; 

No more the mild blue skies are dim with smoke, 
No more the bugle's startling war-notes ring, 

No more the sunshine glints the sabre's stroke. 

The bluebird whistles from the forest tree ; 

The wood is sweet with wild arbutus' breath ; 
The winds that sweep the fragrant southern sea 

No longer bring us news of strife and death. 

The war is ended ! we can sleep at night, 
Dreaming no more of bristling battle-plains, 

Where men and horses mingle in the fight, 

And shot and shell drop fast their murderous rains. 

The faithful sentinel can rest him now ; 

His musket hangs above some cottage door ; 
His children climb to kiss his lips and brow, 

And hear the story of the charge once more. 

Peace reigns. 'Tis quiet all across the land ! 

The hearth -fires gleam ; the heroes are at home, 
Save those who fell from out the loyal band, 

Whose tired feet will never homeward come. 



AT LAST. 



141 



God rest them well ! and let the summer rain 
Fall gently on the sod that o'er them grows ! 

Relieved from care, released from toil and pain, 
They heed not summer's flowers or winter's snows. 

Bought with a price ! a price of precious blood ! 

This glorious peace that in the end is ours ! 
God sent His judgments in a fiery flood, — 

His peace at last, her forehead crowned with 
flowers ! 



AT LAST. 



The snows of winter fall around ; 

The Northern breezes blow ; 
The hearth is piled with blazing logs, 

That fill the room with glow ; 
No more our thoughts go out afar 

To dreary prison-cells, 
No more the south winds seem to us 

Like dismal funeral knells. 

No more the printed page of death 
Glares in our shrinking eyes ; 

No more we seem to hear, by night, 
The dying's feeble cries. 

Thank God for that ! at last, at last, 
The weary war is o'er ! 
13* 



142 



AT LAST. 

Oh, days of waiting, nights of gloom, 
Return to us no more ! 

Something is lost from many a home ! 

Somewhere they lie to-night, 
The noble hearts who died to win 

The battle for the right. 
Peace to them ! Though we miss the love 

That swelled for us alone, 
We're thankful that they died a death 

We'll never blush to own ! 

And for the living ! those who've come 

Back to their homes again, 
Scarred with their wounds, all bronzed, and gray, 

And furrowed with sharp pain, — 
Be tender of them ! We have dwelt 

In peace and quiet here, 
While they have fought to save for us 

All that we held most dear. 

Honor the soldiers ! Wheresoe'er 

You see the faded blue, 
Think that it hides a loyal heart, 

To land and honor true ! 
And when at night, these wintry nights, 

We gather side by side, 
One moment's tender silence give 

To those who fought and died. 

February, 1866. 



POEMS OF THE SEASONS. 



JANUARY. 

The snow lies heavy on the hills, 

The lowland wastes are white, 
The sharp wind whistles shrill and cold 

In the great elms, to-night ; 
And through the dim old hemlock woods 

It heaves a quivering sigh, 
And all the glittering host of stars 

Listen and hear the cry ; 
While like a globe of frozen ice 

The moon hangs in the sky. 

The hazel's dainty twigs are white, 

Touched by the silvery frost ; 
The hawthorn and the cedar hedge 

In fleecy drifts are lost ; 
And down upon the broad blue lake 

The waters take their rest 
Beneath the crystal coffin-lid 

Of ice upon their breast : 
A conquered warrior, pinioned down, 

The mill-wheel stands confessed. 

Out on the river's glittering plain 
The skater's steel rings clear : 

Winter's for him the carnival 
Of all the beauteous year ; 

(145) 



i 4 6 FEBRUARY. 

O'er the hard-trodden frozen track 
The gay sleighs speed along, 

The iron hoof-beats keeping time 
To many a wild old song, 

And underneath the soft fur robes 
Young hearts beat high and strong. 

Midwinter ! though we own thy reign 

A tyrant's, yet, for all, 
There are some compensations still 

Within thy frozen thrall ! 
With hope, and youth, and love for ours, 

It's little grief to know 
That all outside our fire-lit home 

Is buried in the snow ; 
For when we live with those we love, 

We bask in summer's glow. 



FEBRUARY. 

There is a silence chill as death, and deep, 

O'er all the stretch of wood, and field, and plain; 

River and brook are hushed in noiseless sleep; 
The fields wear garments white without a stain ; 

The bare gaunt trees are draped with glittering frost ; 
The sun will change each diamond flake to gold. 

Night, pitying them, because their leaves were lost, 
Covered their shivering limbs up from the cold 
With fleecy frost, soft feathery fold on fold. 



FEBRUARY. I47 

The moaning pines have ceased their tireless song, 

And stand in majesty, erect and grim, 
Black where the shadows lie in state along 

Their frozen labyrinths, so weird and dim; 
But by-and-by the northern wind will rise, 

And through their organ-pipes his strong breath 
sweep, 
And all the soul of song which underlies 

These subtle silences shall rouse from sleep, 

And stir to life, and sound, the hush so deep. 

The lowlands, where the river winds its course, 

Its sinuous course, through swamp, and wood, and 
fell, 

Are resonant with voices rude and hoarse, 
Which wake the echoes of the hemlock dell ; 

Sharp as the crack of deadly rifles breaks 

Upon the shuddering air when strife is dread, 

The solid ice, which covers streams and lakes, 
Snaps where the frost its mail has sundered, 
As if the dead stream turned beneath its coffin-lid. 

The stars grow faint, and merge into the glow 
Which bursts through all the sable face of night; 

The waning moon far in the west hangs low, 
And sinks her lessening crescent out of sight ; 

The yellowing east glows warm, and streaks of fire 
Shoot zenith-ward, the horizon burns red ; 

The mountain-brows, that to the clouds aspire, 
Blush in the soft effulgence round them shed, 
And all the earth with sunlight is o'erspread. 



148 MARCH. 



MARCH. 

Mud underfoot, fogs overhead, 

Rain, drizzle, gloom, and mist, 
Winter and Spring are reconciled, 

Have met again and kissed. 
Uncertain, fickle, fierce, and false, 

A monster in his rage 
Is March, a lion wild to break 

The boundary of his cage. 

Parent of winds and frantic storms, 

Patron of sulky nights, 
When all the sky is bloody red 

With dancing Northern Lights ; 
Repenting now and then, to show 

Suns like the suns of June, 
And soft, cerulean, placid skies 

Above a placid moon. 

White snows, forgetful of the time, 

Drifting across the hills, 
And spurious ice bridging across 

Emancipated rills ; 
Touches of fiercest polar cold, 

Blasts from boreal shores, 
Sweeping with fiendish rage and spite 

The dreary waste of moors, 



APRIL. I49 



Crushing with brutal cold the flowers 

That fain would burst to bloom, 
Dooming all vegetating things 

Unto a common tomb, 
Nipping with frosty breath the life 

Of bud, and sprout, and leaf; 
But little care we for his power, 

Knowing his reign is brief. 



APRIL. 



A faint, soft breath from low-hung skies, 

As if it swept o'er flowers ; 
A languid sweetness running through 

The long day's dreamy hours; 
The violet haze upon the hills 

Drops on the leafless trees, 
And in the west the setting moon 

Is drowned in purple seas. 

A sweet, green prescience clothes the fields ; 

And, in the bosky dells, 
The violet and forget-me-not 

Unclose their bright-hued cells ; 
The streams released from icy chains 

White down the highlands flow, 
And the great river's troubled breast 

Is white with foamy snow. 
14 



^5° 



MAY. 

The fruit-trees droop with crimson buds, 

A prophecy of bloom ; 
The crocus and the daffodil 

The garden-beds illume ; 
The pale arbutus springs to life, 

And opes its starry eyes 
In quiet forest paths and vales, 

Where mellow sunshine lies. 

Anon upon the crystal air 

Rings out the robin's note; 
And from the tall elm by the spring 

The bluebird's warblings float; 
The lambs bleat on the pasture hills, 

And frolic at their play, 
And all the earth seems listening 

To hear the step of May. 



v 



MAY. 



The air is full of golden glows : 

Sweet prophecies of June 
Are on the sunset skies each night. 

Which face the rising moon ; 
In molten seas of amber mist 

The stars shrink out of sight, 
And in a maze of fervid hues 

The day blends with the night. 



MAY. i 5I 



The morning airs are sharp with frost ; 

Smells of the pine and fern 
Come from the east hills, where like fire 

The sunrise glories burn ; 
And in the pasture at the gate 

The lazy cattle stand, 
Watching the farmer as he goes 

To sow his fertile land. 

The dandelion stars the field 

With yellow splendor gay, 
The orchards dress themselves in white, 

Because the time is May ; 
The plains are greening in the sun, 

And soon the clover grass 
Will crimson all the meadow-lands 

O'er which the wild bees pass. 

Oh, rare west winds, and airs of balm, 

Steal down from wild-wood heights ! 
Oh, scents of spruce, and pine, and fern, 

And breath of sweet delights, 
Come softly to me, o'er the reach 

Of rippling sunlit bay, 
And linger long, — oh, linger long ! 

Because the time is May ! 



I 5 2 JUNE. 



JUNE. 

A radiant wealth of golden stills, 

A tender azure sky, 
A wind whose touch is sweet and soft 

As breaths of Araby; 
Nights luminous with twinkling stars, — 

Heaven's lamps of crystal bright, — 
While over all the moon pours down 

Her flood of silver light. 

The clover-blooms on meadow-lands 

Scent all the ambient air, 
And crimson roses lavish forth 

Their odors sweetly rare ; 
The chestnut-trees droop heavily 

With weight of verdant leaves, 
And through the cool shade of their boughs 

The west wind's spirit breathes. 

A white mist shrouds the distant lake 

In a soft, fleecy veil, 
And hides the lilies floating there, 

The lilies pure and pale ; 
The crickets chant beneath the grass 

A lonesome, weird refrain, 
Like the slow beating on the turf 

Of the autumnal rain. 



JULY. 153 

The sleepy whip-poor-will pours forth 

His melancholy song, 
So like the wailing, sorrowing note 

Of some immortal wrong ; 
And on the shingly shore the waves 

Make music sad and low, 
As they toss up their foamy wreaths, 

White as the drifted snow. 

Oh, June ! rare month of love and hope ! 

Sweet time of birds and flowers, 
Of golden hushes, royal calms, 

And long, bright, sunny hours ! 
Methinks at this full flush of life 

Grand instincts spring to birth, 
And that in June sweet heaven seems 

A little nearer earth. 



JULY. 



Clad in her robes of green and gold 
And royal purple, fold on fold, 

Midsummer's gracious Queen 
Enters her kingdom, blossom-crowned, 
And sheds her peerless grace around 

With majesty serene. 

She brings a wealth of deep-blue skies, 
Hot sunsets flushed with scarlet dyes 
And sweet with airs of balm. 



154 



AUGUST. 

Voluptuous swells of melody, 
Bird diapasons wild and free, 

Break on the pulseless calm. 

The springs are low ; the tall grass dips 
Within the brook its thirsty lips, 

To drink with eager zest \ 
In the green woods the shadows lie 
So deep, the south wind's lang'rous sigh 

Scarce palpitates their rest. 

July ! thou priestess of the year S 
Sweet Southron, from a tropic sphere ! 

Native of some far shore ! 
Rich tones, and thrills, and breaths, are thine, 
The souvenirs of lands divine 

Thy mantle hath swept o'er ! 



AUGUST. 



Skies deeply blue as mountain lakes, 

A languorous atmosphere, 
Hills bathed in clouds of purple haze 

And seeming strangely near ; 
Radiant and bright, a ball of fire, 
The great sun burns with fierce desire 

On the perfecting year. 

The elms droop lazily, scarce stirred 
By the inactive'breeze ; 



AUGUST. 155 

The red-winged birds drone dreamily 

Within their bowers of leaves ; 
While knee-deep in the sluggish brook 
The cattle stand with drowsy look 

Beneath the cool, green trees. 

The reaper's song rises and falls 

Along the ripening wold ; 
The wheat-stacks stand like plumed hussars 

In uniforms of gold ; 
And, far away across the plain, 
The teamster drives the loaded wain, 

And whistles all so bold. 

Twilight descends, a veil of sweets, 

Warm with an amber mist ; 
The sunlight and the moonlight 

Have met in love, and kissed ; 
While, through the soft voluptuous sea 
Of golden air, the zephyrs free 

Float wheresoe'er they list. 

August ! the year's full womanhood ! 

How fast thy glad hours fly ! 
Like all things fair and beautiful, 

Doomed to grow pale and die ! 
Month of rare flowers and soft-eyed stars, 
Of greening leaves and wind-guitars, 

Red moons and purple sky ! 



156 SEPTEMBER. 



SEPTEMBER. 

A calm sky full of clouds of golden mist 

Gilding the distant mountains brown and bare ; 

Sweet Summer's lips pale Autumn's cheek have kissed, 
And left the impress of their warm love there. 

Sunsets of vivid gold and purple haze, 

Stars that look on you through a mellow calm, 

Odors of fruit and flowers, and woodland maze, 
And west winds laden with the breath of balm. 

On fertile uplands, at the eventide, 

The busy reaper piles the groaning wain ; 

And the old barn, whose broad doors stand so wide, 
Filled to the ridge-pole is with hay and grain. 

The corn is ripening in the gracious sun, 

The bursting husks display its gleaming gold ; 

And on the lowland, rye-stacks, sere and dun, 
Like trusty sentinels stand plumed and bold. 

The forest gleams with red and amber fires ; 

The beech hangs out its primrose-colored flags ; 
The sumach artist's pencil never tires 

Of painting scarlet all the mountain crags. 

At twilight, when the winds are sinking down, 
In chestnut woods you hear the sweet refrain 



OCTOBER. I57 

Made by the ripened nuts, as, plump and brown, 
They fall like drops of scattered April rain. 

The nights are full of grand displays of power ; 

The northern skies with spires of flame are set, 
Auroral lights in grand disorder tower, 

Shaming old Rome with dome and minaret ! 

O God ! beneath the wonders of Thy hand 
I sit in silence ; lip and heart are dumb S 

Earth, air, and ocean, all this wide-spread land, 
Sprang to existence when Thou bad'st them Come ! 

Looking up to the dim voids of the sky, 
Where sails the moon, an island in the sea, 

My soul is lost ! — words and emotions die ! 
Thought only dwells on Thine Infinity ! 



OCTOBER. 



The yellow pen of Autumn gilds the green, 
And writes a song of glory on the leaves ; 

The crimson maples raise their brilliant sheen, 
And through the wood the southern balm-wind 
breathes. 

There are soft voices in the whispering trees ; 

Leaf unto leaf saying its sad farewell, — 
Hearing afar the blighting brumal breeze 

Along gray highlands lift its solemn swell. 
x 5 



153 



OCTOBER. 



The star-eyed frost-flower, at the trees' dun feet, 
Nods low, as listening to the fairy sprites, 

Which, maybe, at this season love to meet 

And trip the elfin dance these lonesome nights. 

The snow-white rabbit, changed to dapple gray, 
Hops light along the leafy, rustling aisles ; 

The squirrel, chirping on his homeward way, 
Rests for a moment on the low rail stiles. 

The graceful fox, with terror-quickened bounds, 
Though thirsty, stops not at the silver rills : 

He hears the baying of the hoarse-mouthed hounds, 
And hunters shouting, down the bare brown hills. 

The partridge drums along the yellow dell, 
The droning raven croaks on blasted trees, 

And in the copse the quail's low piping bell 
Charms and entrances with its melodies. 

The mellow apples blush in spacious heaps, 
Waiting to load the cumbrous harvest-wain ; 

The purple grapes gleam on the highland steeps, 
And scarlet thorn-plums every hill-side stain. 

And at his work the reaper whistles shrill, 

Plodding his slow way o'er the wheat-grown wold ; 

And in the fields the corn-shocks stand so still 
They seem like towers of tessellated gold. 

By Northern lakes the wild geese have long talks, 
Each shrill voice clamorous, vain of rule and sway, 



NOVEMBER. I59 

Till through the air's long labyrinthine walks 
To warmer climes they take their circling way. 

The sun sinks down ; curtains of mist arise 
From murky tarn and sluggish-bosomed pool ; 

Dull fogs and vapors hide the gorgeous skies, 
And ocean breezes blow in fresh and cool. 



NOVEMBER. 

The fallen leaves, wet with" the autumn rain, 

Strew thickly all the lonely forest aisles ; 
The slant gold sunshine falls as if it fain 

Would warm the earth to summer with its smiles. 
Adown the cold, bleak hills the north wind sweeps, 

Fresh from the regions of perpetual snow, 
Born in the chill zone where stern Winter keeps 

His gates all locked against the summer's glow. 

The gliding brook has hushed its soothing song, 

And all the pasture rills are chilled to rest ; 
The mighty river, as it creeps along, 

Bears up a coat of armor on its breast ; 
The trees, like bony skeletons, uplift 

Their naked arms against the cold blue sky, 
And at their feet their cast leaves whirl and drift, 

And hide away, like lost brown birds, to die. 

A drear, belated robin skims across 

The barren heath ; a squirrel, on the wall, 



j So DECEMBER. 

Nibbles his acorn, with no sense of loss, 

For autumn's frosts make the ripe chestnuts fall. 

The wild geese, fleeing from the Northern lakes, 
Mingle their croaking with the shrieking wind, 

And through the tangle of the copse-wood brakes 
The hunted stag leaps with the hounds behind. 

At night the sky above the purple hills, 

And all the rifted waste of cloudy heights, 
Are radiant, and through the twilight stills 

Like chapel tapers burn the stars' bright lights ; 
The circled moon, like Saturn and his rings, 

Looks with cold eye upon the cold below ; 
The air so full of keen and frosty stings 

Utters its prophecies of coming snow ! 



DECEMBER. 

The cold winds, heavy with the breath of frost, 
Rush down the lonesome gorges of the hills ; 

The withered leaves, their autumn crimson lost, 
Strew the smooth surface of the ice-bound rills. 

The elm-trees lift their rifled boughs aloft, 
The dark pines shiver on the mountain ridge, 

And o'er the gliding river's music soft 

The King of Frost has built a crystal bridge. 

Soon o'er the mountain peaks that rise supreme, 
To bathe their foreheads in the sunset glow, 



DECEMBER. 161 

Like the vague mistiness of some cold dream 
Will come the first faint messengers of snow. 

Summer is past ! I hear the whispered words 
From out the grim hiatus she has left ; 

Gone, with her wealth of flowers and singing-birds, 
And we, who loved her, sorrow on bereft. 

Oh, Summer ! in thy mellow days of balm 

The gates swung open to the graveward track ; 

Heaven has another voice in the sweet psalm,— 
An added treasure, — and the earth a lack. 

Ah, well ! the way's not long, and by-and-by 
We shall look back on what we suffered here, 

And wonder that we thought it worth a sigh, 
Or worth the silent utterance of a tear ! 

Passed ! and the harvest ended ! Night is come ! 

Day dies in sable gloom along the west ; 
The night of winter falls : we turn to home, 

Our recompense, — our promised place of rest. 

I am content ! Amen,— so let it be ! 

Peace lives within no doubt can e'er dispel ! 
Throughout all space a calm exists for me, — 

I hear the grand assurance — All is well ! 



THE END. 



■ 

■ -Aft. 




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